It's a Mad, Mad, Mad, Mad War
by Ace1997
Summary: Goose, a war-weary army doctor, somehow finds herself dragged into some of the biggest battles of the Clone Wars. How does this happen? Nothing but bad luck.
1. Good Riddance

#1 Good Riddance

* * *

"Next!"

The shout, though barely heard above the buzz of activity in the OR, still brought the pair of orderlies who carried her patient off to post-op. The weary surgeon sighed, stripping off her used and bloody gloves and tossing them in the bin of surgical waste before reaching for the fresh pair offered by the circulating nurse. She rolled her shoulders, trying to ease some of the tension in her arms while she waited for the next wounded man to come.

All too soon, a different set of orderlies carried her new patient in from pre-op. Without even looking at the scans of the soldier's abdomen, she knew the damage was very extensive. Had she been in a real hospital, with up-to-date equipment, this would have been a relatively safe and simple operation. However, in this temporary field hospital, it would have to be a quick and dirty surgery.

Meatball surgery.

She absolutely hated these primitive surgical conditions, and the shortcuts which had to be taken while operating would have been seen as malpractice on any core world. Nevertheless, meatball surgery was a necessity here because there simply wasn't enough time to make things pretty. Not if you wanted more than half of the incoming casualties to survive.

For what seemed like the millionth time since coming here, she asked for the vibroscalpel. This man would need his bowel resected, as he had taken several pieces of shrapnel to the gut. Suddenly, a bleeder opened up, spurting out blood that looked almost black in the harsh glare of the OR lights.

"Blast! Shrapnel must've nicked the renal artery. Hemostat!" the surgeon barked, muttering a few curses as she fixed the durasteel clamp to the gushing blood vessel. "Hang another unit of whole blood, stat!"

She glanced at the patient's vitals monitor, and was relieved to see that he was still relatively stable. For now. She continued to carefully pull out the twisted shards of metal, sealing each tear left behind with a glue-stat. Fifteen minutes later, the patient was closed up and ready for post-op. Compared to most patients, that one had been a blue milk run. Unfortunately, her good luck probably would not hold.

"Next!" the tired surgeon called again, although not for the last time that day.

* * *

Hours later, the drained surgeon tugged off her blood-smeared surgical gown and dumped it in the scrub room's laundry hamper. Then she all but collapsed on the narrow bench opposite the sinks, eyes shut before she was even fully seated. A few moments passed, and she was sound asleep.

Not long later, however, a short figure hesitantly stepped into the scrub room.

"Um, Dr. Gosling?" the aide began tentatively, "I'm mighty sorry to disturb you sir…I mean ma'am! I, uh…I've got some news I think you'll want to hear, maybe."

The formerly sleeping surgeon stirred at the sound of his voice and mumbled incoherently for a few moments, irritated by the unwelcome intrusion.

"Oli, for the last time, you can call me Goose! We're friends, so it doesn't matter that I outrank you." She grumbled back, without bothering to open her eyes. Or even move, for that matter.

"Yeah, well it just doesn't feel proper-like to call an officer by a nickname…" Oli said defensively.

Goose chuckled softly at the kid's endearing accent. A human native to this world, he served as the commanding officer's personal aide, though he was so young he looked like he still belonged in school.

"Oli, I was just in surgery for sixteen hours, and I'm way past the point of utter exhaustion. Is it too much to ask for a solid ten minutes of sleep?" Goose sighed. "What's the news?" she asked groggily.

"You've been transferred!" Oli answered cheerily.

Goose's eyes snapped open and she sat up so quickly she nearly fell off the bench. She had been begging for a transfer since the day she had been assigned to this mudhole, and that was three years ago. It had felt like a lifetime.

"Are you sure?" Goose asked breathlessly, "I'm leaving Virgillia for good?"

"Yep, it says so right here." Oli began to read from his datapad, "All Republic medical personnel are hereby withdrawn from service in the Virgillian Civil War to be reassigned to new posts in the Grand Army of the Republic-"

While she had been praying for this moment for three years, Goose knew there was no such thing as the Grand Army of the Republic. This was beginning to smell like some sort of practical joke, and she was in no mood for it now.

"Oli, the Republic doesn't have a Grand Army!" Goose interrupted, exasperated. "When did this supposed 'army' magically spring up?"

Oli looked over the report again, nervously.

"A little over six weeks ago, if the date marking on this report is correct." Oli replied slowly, "It came in just a few hours ago, but you know how slow communications are on Virgillia."

Goose groaned. The report had probably arrived at Sector HQ a long time ago, but had never been sent out because of the bureaucratic backwardness of this world. The Republic had a Grand Army, and it had taken nearly two months for the news to travel to this wretched excuse for a planet.

Typical.

"The Republic is at war, with some people who call themselves the Confederation of Independent Systems," Oli continued. "I guess a whole army sort of just popped out of nowhere, and there was this super-big battle on same planet called Geonosis!"

Realizing the implications of this news, Goose sank back onto the bench and allowed her head to thud into the wall.

"Perfect. This is just bloody perfect." The surgeon groused. "I hoped I was finally headed to some cushy job in a Republic MedCenter doing routine surgery, rather than being up to my elbows in some poor soldier's guts every day. Instead, they're moving me from one warzone to the next!"

"Well, you don't know that you'll be assigned to another frontlines outfit. Maybe they'll send you to a rear-area hospital where they only do follow-up surgery!" Oli supplied helpfully.

However, Goose was not consoled.

"Fat chance of that! I'm a trauma surgeon, I'm bound to be assigned to another field unit." Goose sighed and shook her head. "I'm sure going to miss you guys, though, no matter how much I do want to leave. The three stooges will miss me, right?" she grinned, then stopped as if something had just occurred to her. "Hey, when _am_ I going?"

Oli glanced down at his datapad again, and frowned.

"Today at 0900." Oli said sadly. It was only seven hours away. "I guess you better go pack, huh?"

Her grin faltered a little. She hadn't expected the transfer to be so sudden. She was even beginning to feel like she didn't want go. The people here, the doctors and the nurses, were practically family after the three years of hell they'd been through together. But, she had requested the transfer, hadn't she? Goose decided not to let it get to her. Besides, any war is just as good as the next.

"Ha! I almost forgot it was two in the morning. It can wait, Oli. For once I'm actually a little hungry," Goose said with forced cheerfulness. The food there, if could even be called food, had a terrible reputation. It could hardly be classified as edible, even on the best of days.

"Probably not such a good idea, Goose. The only food you'll find in the mess tent now is leftover dinner, and I'm pretty sure it was made out of _last_ night's leftovers." Oli warned, cringing. "I had some, and I'm starting to regret it."

Goose laughed softly and clapped the aide on the shoulder, leading him out into the dark, pre-dawn morning, toward the mess tent.

"Oli, how many times do I have to tell you? The food here is not to be taken internally!" she said jokingly. "Let's just get some caf, then. Okay?"

* * *

A/N: Hello, good reader! This is my first work of fanfiction, and I'm afraid I may be a bit rough around the edges. Please take the time to review, any creative criticism would be helpful.


	2. Clean Sheets and a Mattress

#2 Clean Sheets and a Mattress

* * *

It was now over a day since she had left Virgillia, and Goose could still hardly believe it. After being stuck on that world for so long, the novelty of leaving had yet to wear off. She had, of course, been sad to have to say goodbye to her friends there.

They'd thrown her and the other Republic personnel an impromptu going-away party, which had included more than tears of joy. Oli had tried to put on a brave face, but Goose saw that the young aide was close to tears. It seemed that he may have had a bit of a crush on one of the nurses leaving. As she had predicted, her three boisterous roommates had been more than unhappy to see her go, and try as she might she could not deny she already missed them too.

Now she was alone. All the others who were also leaving Virgillia, all of them only support personnel, had left on a different transport, ostensibly back toward the core. Goose, on the other hand, had been sent toward the front because even this early on in the war, the Republic already lacked for surgeons.

It bothered her, that out of all her colleagues she had been singled out, just because she was a surgeon, and they were only nurses and orderlies.

Her transport, which was completely empty if you didn't count the astromech droid that was the pilot, had landed on some giant cruiser in the middle of deep space. Goose had been surprised by the sheer scale of it. The hanger alone was four times the size of the entire camp on Virgillia, and it was only the _hanger._

After disembarking the transport, Goose had taken a moment to discreetly gawk at the multitudes of soldiers in white armor as they bustled around the hanger, oblivious to her being there. She would later learn that a shipment of cargo had just arrived, and had it been any other day, her presence would have created more of a stir.

Goose looked around intently, but was unable to find anyone not in armor. She hoped silently that she wasn't on a ship crewed entirely by soldiers, since she was a noncombatant. As a doctor, there wasn't much she had in common with people who wounded others, she believed. Regardless, it might eventually be a good idea for her to meet some of these men, perhaps find out more about why there actually _was_ a war, in the first place.

On the trip there, Goose had speculated on how the Republic had managed to scrape up an army in such record time. The Judicial Force, which served as the Republic's military in the past, was nowhere near large enough to be called an army. Judging by the size of this ship alone, the Grand Army was very, very big. They'd have to number in their millions, at the very least.

Upon seeing the droves of them moving around, Goose began to notice that besides the obvious fact that all of their armor was virtually identical, they were also all the same height and build. Either the Republic's recruitment offices had pulled off a miracle, or something else was afoot.

Goose kept her theories to herself, however, when out of nowhere came a rather stoic soldier dressed in a white suit of armor identical to the rest. He'd stiffly introduced himself with a serial number she instantly forgot, then showed her to her quarters.

Oddly, he'd seemed awkward and distant the whole time, giving only short or monosyllabic answers to her many questions. All the information Goose managed to get out of him was that they were on the Resolute, a Venator-class Star Destroyer, whatever that meant. When they arrived at her quarters, which happened to be only a short walk and a turbolift ride away from the hanger, her escort had promptly disappeared.

Goose, however, was no longer interested in him. What had her attention now was the bed, which sat up against the back wall of her tiny room. Although it was a bunk bed, suggesting she may have a roommate in the near future, Goose was excited beyond belief to have a real bed at long last, after sleeping on a military-issue folding cot for the entire time she was on Virgillia.

Three years ago she would have complained bitterly about the cramped space, but three years was a long time, and Goose had altered her opinion somewhat. After all, just about anything was better than a drafty tent and a dirt floor.

Elated by her new living conditions, Goose performed a short celebratory dance that likely would have looked bordering on insane to any passersby. Fortunately for Goose, the door had closed behind her automatically, though she was too ridiculously happy to care anyway.

So content at the moment she actually forgot she was on a warship, Goose dumped her duffel bag on the floor and flopped onto the bottom bunk, falling asleep in an instant. To Goose, the thin and hard mattress was the best thing she'd ever slept on.

* * *

Hours later, Goose awoke with the sharp realization that she was hungry. Ravenously hungry. Not only had she not eaten in at least twenty hours, Goose had also gotten a bit thin since avoiding the noxious fare at her old camp. Needless to say, breakfast was now a much higher priority than sleep.

Stomach growling insistently, Goose pushed herself out of bed, walked out the door, and headed down a corridor that she had smelled food from when she had walked to her quarters yesterday night. It soon became apparent, however, that she had entered the area of the ship with the barracks. It did occur to her that the mess hall would have a very high concentration of soldiers, but she could smell it distinctly now, and she was intent on completing her quest for food.

While she walked, Goose briefly reflected on how strange all of this was. She was on a starship, wandering hallways made of durasteel, not trudging through ankle-deep mud. The air was cool, and had a metallic tang from being cycled through the ship's monstrous ventilation system. It was a far cry from Virgillia's muggy, oppressive atmosphere. Most important to her, at the moment, was that the scent of food was actually attractive rather than utterly repulsive.

As she neared the big double doors, Goose could hear men's voices, and assumed there were only a few people in the mess hall because the noise was not too loud. When she entered, however, Goose saw she had been wrong.

The place was packed.


	3. Lo, the Mess Hall!

#3 Lo, the Mess Hall!

* * *

CT-7222, or Jules, as his squad mates called him, was eating near the clone officers on the far side of the canteen when she walked in. Having been facing the door, the clone medic had been among the first to notice the unusual figure standing in the doorway.

Never, in all of his few years of life, had Jules ever seen a human woman. In fact, the only females he'd even seen before were Kaminoan scientists, and there was hardly any physical difference between them and the men at all. She was startlingly different from anything else he'd ever seen. Needless to say, it was not long before every clone in the room no longer cared about his breakfast.

Jules allowed himself to stare for a while. She wore bedraggled, outdated, olive-green fatigues that looked like they had at least a few days of dirt accumulated on them, and she walked with a slight yet unprofessional slouch. A caduceus pinned to her collar indicated she was a doctor. She was rather lanky, with long limbs, long fingers, and strong hands ideal for a surgeon. A short mop of ruddy red hair ran wild atop her head, and murky green eyes shone with bemusement. Thin to the point of being underweight, she was _not_ what he had been expecting when he woke up that morning.

When she'd walked in, her expression had immediately been one of confusion, then discomfort as all attention was invariably turned to her. She shifted from one foot to the other as she was scrutinized by about two hundred equally surprised clones.

"Hello…?" she began uncertainly.

She was met with an empty silence. Finally, a clone captain a few seats away from Jules stood up.

"What are you doing here?" he asked authoritatively.

She took a moment to find him among the sea of identical faces, then looked him straight in the eyes.

"I was drafted." She answered sardonically. "And I'm hungry."

A few men started to laugh, but they were silenced by a stern look from the Captain. Had she been anyone else, he would have chewed her out already. Of course, this was a special case. The Captain had probably never seen a woman before either, and most likely wasn't sure what protocol to follow.

"I meant what are you doing _here_ , specifically." He explained politely. "This is the soldier's mess."

She stared at him quizzically.

"This _is_ where the food is, right?" she questioned sarcastically.

The Captain was nearing the end of his patience. Used to being obeyed without question, he was close to becoming angry with her.

"The officer's mess is a few decks-" he started, but she cut him off.

"I realize this is a very interesting conversation," she interrupted, "but I'd rather not have to yell it across the room. How about I grab something to eat, and then sit with you?"

Without waiting for his response, she turned and headed to the now-deserted chow line. By the time she finished piling food on her tray, most of the clones, all of whom had been paying rapt attention throughout the exchange, had reluctantly returned to their meals following another stern look from their Captain. Jules wasn't sure what to make of her. He had never seen anyone so openly disregard an officer before, but at the same time he was irresistibly intrigued by her.

* * *

When Goose sat down at the annoying clone's table, the mess had, thankfully, resumed its normal volume. Though she had managed to maintain an indifferent façade, she was still mentally struggling to grapple with the shock stumbling across hundreds of the same face.

"Hello again," Goose greeted casually as she began to eat. The food, no matter how bland it was, tasted ten times better than anything she'd been served on Virgillia. She allowed herself a small grin as she discreetly stared at all the clones.

Up close, the soldiers were even more startling to see. Goose had immediately recognized them as clones when she entered the room, but it still gave her an uneasy feeling to look at them. The possibility had occurred to her in the hanger, but she hadn't thought it likely to be true. Now, with all their helmets off, she could plainly see her passing idea had been correct.

It raised all sorts of questions, such as where they had come from, and who created them. However, at the moment, her utter bewilderment overrode that and she was reduced to trying to compose herself as best she could. After all, she did not want to alienate them.

"Who are you?" the clone from earlier asked bluntly. The only reason she could tell him apart was because he, along with a few others, had some distinctive blue marking on their armor.

Trying not to seem too aloof, yet still hoping to act like she wasn't as disconcerted as she really was.

"Captain V.E. Gosling, MD. Trauma surgeon." Goose replied airily. "Who are you?"

On the inside, Goose still felt a little on edge. _Culture shock_ , she told herself. Still, being stared at by multitudes of the same face _was_ unsettling.

"CT-7567, captain in command of Torrent Company." He paused, "I'm not familiar with your uniform."

Goose glanced self-consciously at her fatigues. She supposed they _did_ look odd compared to what they were wearing.

"I dunno. It's the uniform the Republic gave me when I was drafted, three years ago. I know they're military-issue, but they look like they were left over from before the Stark Hyperspace War." Goose shrugged. "They probably are."

Goose continued to chow down.

"I wasn't aware the Republic was fighting any wars before Geonosis." the Captain probed.

She swallowed quickly.

"You're right. I was wrongfully commissioned by the medical branch of the Judicial Department. They sent me to a mudball of a planet called Virgillia as part of a twelve-being Republic 'mercy mission'." Goose looked at him meaningfully. "By 'wrongfully commissioned,' I do mean drafted."

Goose took another few fast bites of food as more clones leaned in to listen.

"Anyway, we went there under the impression that we were there to help the poor, miserable sick people of Virgillia with no access to health care." She paused for effect. "Of course, the Judiciary neglected to inform us there was a planet-wide civil war going on until _after_ we went dirtside. Rather rude, don't you think?" Goose added scathingly.

She ate a little bit more and took a sip of caf.

"So, they sent us all to a field hospital, and I worked there for the better part of the three years we were stuck there. Surgical conditions were far from ideal, which is more than I can say for the rest of the camp. Yesterday they _finally_ came to their senses and got us out of there. Took them long enough." Goose finished cynically.

Goose went back to her breakfast while the clones around her exchanged glances and stared at her a little more. She was a little surprised at herself for saying that much, but it had felt good to get it all out in the open. After a short while, one of the clones broke the silence.

"A mobile unit, right?" he asked nervously, much to the surprise of his compatriots.

Goose studied him for a moment before she answered, trying to make sure she would remember what he looked like. Of course, his face looked like every other in the room, and his hair was no different. Then she noticed the medical insignia painted onto his right shoulder plate, and realized that he must be a medic. That was good to know.

"Yeah, you could call it that," She said wistfully, as if fondly remembering it, although she really wasn't. "Never actually moved it, even though the whole camp was designed to be relocated as much as necessary. We lived it tents the entire time, just waiting for the order to move. Permanently temporary, we called it," Goose grumbled.

"So you like it better here, then?" the medic asked innocently.

Goose found the question so absurdly funny that she almost choked. She wasn't sure if he was actually so naïve or making an attempt at humor.

"Let me put it this way." Goose pointed at him with her fork. "When your bedroom floor is the same mud caked onto your boots, and the ceiling is made out of the same fabric as your trousers, _anywhere_ is better."

The medic was stunned into silence. Goose felt like complaining a bit more, so she kept going.

"I must admit, I do feel a bit out of place. On Virgillia green was a common color, because the entire camp was made of Republic military surplus materials." Goose cocked her head to the side. "Hell, there was so much green in that place I would almost blend into the background. The tents were green, the medlifters were green, the uniforms were green, and all the food was green or turning green, except for the vegetables." She made a face. "Those were brown."

Goose was on a roll. It seemed griping suited her.

"As a matter of fact, compared to Virgillia, this place is a five-star gourmet restaurant. I'm not joking," Goose said frankly, "the last thing I ate there was called 'nerf surprise.' It was either liquid steak, or pudding with gristle in it. Hard to tell, really."

She sighed theatrically.

"As a matter of fact, I think I could kiss whoever got me assigned to this paradise." Goose stopped suddenly. "Wait a sec. Who got me assigned here?"

For the first time in a while, the Captain spoke again.

"That would be General Skywalker, ma'am. He spoke to me about assigning a combat surgeon to Torrent Company, permanently. Something about reducing mortality rates." He said matter-of-factly, "I assume you're it."

Goose stared at him incredulously.

"What makes you think that?" she asked disbelievingly. "I am a trauma surgeon, yes, but surgeons are usually only sent to the frontlines in an emergency. The rest of the time, medics stabilize the wounded in the field, and surgeons operate once they can be med-evaced. That's how it works."

The Captain nodded in acknowledgement.

"I understand that," he replied diplomatically, "but as you may not know, it is most unusual to see an actual doctor on an attack cruiser. You see, all medical personnel are usually sent to medical frigates or hospital ships. The medbays of assault craft are often crewed entirely by med droids. This leads me to believe that the General went ahead with his plan, and requested an experienced surgeon be sent at once." The Captain paused for a moment to let it sink in. "Do you see any reason why I would be wrong?"

Goose sighed slowly, her appetite fading away as she digested the news. A numb feeling settled in her stomach.

"No…" she said softly, "if what you said is true, then you're probably right. It might not be saying much, but at the moment, I very well might be the most qualified trauma surgeon in the whole kriffing outer rim. At least the only one militarily employed." Goose snorted, "In all likelihood, I'm the only surgeon this far out who earned their MD on a core world."

Goose pushed her tray away and rested her chin on her hand.

"Why does stuff like this always happen to me, anyway?" Goose moaned. "All I want is to be somewhere I don't have to worry about dirt falling in my patient every time something explodes. Somewhere that I won't be scared to death I'm going to be killed by enemy artillery while I'm wrist-deep in a chest cavity. Is it really too much to ask for?"

The clones sat in uncomfortable silence as Goose sat there brooding. She'd been having a perfectly nice day up until then, but now it seemed like she was going to be the only noncombatant, after all. Except… Despite her ill mood just a moment before, her face slowly lit up as if she'd just remembered something incredibly important.

"If there are no other surgeons on board," she said craftily, "does it mean that I get my quarters to myself, even though there are two bunks?"

Not sure why she was suddenly so excited, the Captain merely nodded in affirmation.

"Finally, some good news!" Goose nearly giggled. "You know, this'll be the first time since…I guess it would be…before med school that I haven't had a roommate."

The mystified clones continued to stare.

"Just trying to look on the bright side of life, even if there's not much there," She sighed. "I think I'll go now. I'd like to go check out the medbay."

Goose stood and had started to leave when the medic from earlier leapt up out of his seat.

"Wait!" he exclaimed, then flushed slightly as he realized how desperate he had sounded. "You'll get lost. I–" he glanced around, then pulled the trooper who was sitting next to him out of his seat. " _We_ can take you there."

Goose looked at him curiously for a long moment, then shrugged. Upon further inspection, the medic's friend had turned out to be another medic.

"Sure. Lead on," she said with a hint of amusement. She probably would have gotten hopelessly lost on her own, anyhow.

The two scrambled to collect their helmets and catch up with her as she headed out the door.


	4. Meeting the Medbay

#4 Meeting the Medbay

* * *

"So, you two got names, or what?" Goose asked immediately after exiting the mess hall.

They looked at each other in surprise, but overcame it quickly.

"I'm CT-7222." The first medic said as he pointed out which corridor to go down.

Goose rolled her eyes.

"You can cut the skrag, okay? You're clones, everyone has a number. I get it." She laughed tiredly. "But do you honestly expect me to believe you actually call each other by your numbers? Admit it. You all have real names."

The two medics, one now on either side of her, share a glance. Neither had replaced their helmet yet, so Goose could also see the grin the first medic passed to the second.

"Okay, you got us." The second medic chuckled. "My name is Coric."

"And I'm Jules." The first medic added, then jerked his head back toward the mess hall. "The Captain's name is Rex. He probably would have told you, if you hadn't been so sarcastic."

Goose's smile was almost apologetic.

"Sorry, but not sorry. I get like that when I'm hungry." She said shamelessly. "And since we're dropping the formalities, call me Goose."

"Goose?" Jules asked curiously.

"Yep. That's my name, don't wear it out." She answered amiably.

Up ahead, Goose noticed another set of large doors, similar to the ones to the mess hall.

"Hey, what's that?" she pointed.

"That's the training room." Coric responded. "Captain Rex keeps us busy with workouts and drills when we aren't deployed."

Goose lifted an eyebrow. _Mandatory workouts. Ugh. Poor barves,_ she thought.

"Hm. Sounds…nice." She muttered.

He either didn't hear, or chose not to say anything.

"You want to take a look?" asked Jules, "You're welcome to use it too, if you like."

At that, she cracked up for no real reason she could think of, and couldn't stop for the longest time. Soon, it got to the point where she could no longer breathe.

"I-" Goose gasped for air. "I'm sorry, that was rude of me. It's just…I…" she giggled, and held her stomach when it started to hurt. Finally, she managed to marshal herself. Goose cleared her throat. "I hate exercise, and my favorite sport is avoiding calisthenics. I'll leave it at that."

"I see…" he said slowly, although he probably didn't.

They both now looked thoroughly confused.

"I'm not crazy, I promise. Or at the very least, I'm just as sane as anyone else who's dumb enough to get mixed up in a war." Goose sighed. "I think it's just that I've been away from civilization for so long, I'm still readjusting. It's been so many years since anything normal has happened to me that it all feels preposterous."

Jules nodded slowly.

"I can see what you mean," he said in agreement, "we had some difficulty adjusting to life off Kamino ourselves."

Goose wrinkled her nose.

"Kamino? I've never heard of it." She murmured curiously. "Is it your home?"

They both looked a little uncomfortable, and Goose wondered if she'd struck a nerve.

"I suppose you can call it that." Jules answered with a shrug. "I don't think we've ever really thought of it that way."

Goose decided not to press it any further. When he shrugged, Jules had shifted his grip on his helmet, and Goose had caught a glimpse of the interior, which flashed with a myriad of lights and indicators. She was intrigued.

"Your helmets look rather state-of-the-art," she said appreciatively, "what can they do?"

They both seemed eager to answer. Obviously, they both had quite a lot of experience on the subject.

"They do just about anything," Coric began excitedly, "Besides communications, it also displays tactical information like enemy troop numbers, and you can access data on different species."

"There's also a HUD, or Heads Up Display. It provides the locations of all of our troops, and-" Jules was cut off.

"Hold up a second." Goose interrupted. "You said it shows the locations of troops. Does it also the number of wounded and their locations?"

Jules studied her curiously before answering.

"Yes, of course." He replied. "Every suit of armor has a transponder which relays our positions and lifesigns."

Goose nodded slowly, chewing her lip as she thought it out.

"You see," she finally began, "if I'm really going to be combat surgeon, then I have to be in the loop. I'd rather not have this job, but the army has an annoying tendency not to take no for an answer. I'd rather be prepared. Do you think there's some way I can have a…HUD that shows me where the wounded are? Without an actual helmet, of course." She added hastily.

Again, the two medics exchanged looks before answering. Goose decided she'd have to ask them why they did that later.

"We might be able to come up with something." said Jules. "I have a few ideas."

Suddenly, another thing occurred to her.

"Also, I don't think a wrist comlink is going to cut it. An earpiece perhaps?" Goose speculated. "Or maybe a- oh! Is this the medbay?"

"Yes, this is-" Coric was never able to finish.

"The medbay!" Goose cheered, as if she had just discovered buried treasure.

She hardly waited for the doors to sigh open before she swept in and ran around excitedly, looking at all of the new equipment.

"Would you look at this OR? An anti-sepsis field generator! Bioscanners! Surgical droids! Bacta tanks!" she squealed in sheer delight. "Sweet creation, I feel like I'm in a toy store."

Goose giggled girlishly as she inspected her new domain. The medbay itself had a very linear design: at one end was pre-op, which led to the OR, followed by post-op and the recovery wards. Simply by walking down the length of it, one traced the path of a wounded trooper. At the end and to the left was the supply room. To the right was the morgue.

"And look over there! Real biobeds in post-op." Goose's excitement was unabated. "It's just…perfect."

Behind her, Jules and Coric were looking increasingly confused.

"If you pardon my saying so, this is just an average shipboard medbay." Jules said carefully.

Goose, who had been poking around in the scrub room, turned to him abruptly.

"Not to me this isn't! To me, this is surgical heaven. I haven't seen anything this sterile in three years." Goose laughed humorlessly, "Here, I can operate without worrying about bits of the ceiling falling into my patient, or losing someone to a staph infection we couldn't cure because we ran out of antibiotics two days ago." She shook her head. "No, this is an answer to my many, many prayers."

They all fell silent. Goose looked over the deactivated row of 2-1B med droids, at the end of which stood a GH-7 beside a DD-13.

"This is my staff, then?" she asked, unimpressed.

"This is all of it," Coric replied.

"I think I'm going to miss the nurses." Goose sighed. "I assume there aren't any other women aboard?"

"I'm afraid not, "Jules shook his head.

Goose made a face and looked irritated.

"I am _really_ going to miss those nurses." She groaned. "Who am I going to talk to?"

Coric glanced at the wall chrono, and his eyes widened in surprise.

"Jules, it's almost 0900. We need to leave soon if we want to make it to the morning drill on time." Coric said. "The Captain won't be happy if we're late."

"You're right, we should go." Jules agreed reluctantly. "Is there anything else you need?"

Goose shooed them toward the door.

"No, I'll be fine." She answered. "I don't want to make you late. Go!"

They both slid their helmets back on and turned to leave. To Goose, they looked even more eerily alike when she could not see their faces.

"We'll see you later then…Goose?" Jules asked.

Goose smiled. "I look forward to it." She replied genuinely.


	5. The Mess Hall Again

#5 The Mess Hall…Again

* * *

Eight hours later, Goose had yet to become bored with the medbay. After further investigation, she'd discovered a small refresher, next to which was an even smaller on-call room, furnished only with a tiny cot reminiscent of the one she slept in on Virgillia. Goose made note of said cot, but had no intention of ever using it.

Once she discovered that none of the instruments or supplies were where she liked them to be, she'd taken it upon herself to reorganize it all. That alone had taken two hours. The rest of the time there was spent ogling the bacta tanks, dancing around like a maniac, and messing with the med droids.

When Jules and Coric came back, they returned to find Goose napping on a biobed. However, she was only sleeping lightly, and woke up quickly.

"Hello, guys," she greeted brightly, and gestured around the room. "I still love the place."

"What did you do?" Jules asked, wondering what she possibly could have done for eight hours.

"Oh, lots of things," she answered dismissively as she stretched. "I even named the med droids."

Sure enough, every droid had been labelled with a strip of surgical tape, which was usually used to secure bandages and such.

"Meet Alfonso, Morris, Clive, Max, Leonard, Pete, Eric, Steve, Dirk, and Bruce." Goose pointed out each 2-1B as she said its name. "The GH-7 is Frank, and the DD-13 is Wally."

Both clones looked thoroughly confused.

"Why bother with names?" Coric questioned. "They're just droids."

Goose thought for a moment before answering.

"If they're going to be my staff, I may as well make them _my_ staff." She shrugged. "Besides, I like to be able to tell them apart." Her eyes fell to the plastoid container Jules was carrying. "Hey, what's that?"

Obviously very proud of themselves, they presented the package to her with a flourish. Goose opened it, and found a small earpiece and what looked like a contact lens.

"What is it?" she asked quizzically.

"It's your new HUD and comlink." Coric answered simply.

Goose continued to look confused.

"This is the kind of stuff that the bridge crew likes to use, because they don't usually wear helmets." Jules elaborated, "The contact can display the wounded, just like you wanted. The earpiece is hands free and compact. We thought it would be perfect for you."

She now looked down at the gear with amazement.

"This must have taken some work to get your hands on." Goose said appreciatively, "How did you do it on such short notice?"

"We had to ask a few favors, but it was nothing big. A friend in Engineering did some modifications, and that was it." Jules said modestly, "Go ahead and try it on."

Goose carefully removed the contact from its casing. The circuitry was microscopic, so she knew nobody would be able to see it once she put it on. Clearly, it was top of the line.

"Okay, here goes…" Goose muttered to herself.

She gently laid it on her left eye. Nothing happened.

"Blink twice rapidly to toggle between on and off," Jules explained quickly.

Goose blinked two times, and was so startled by how suddenly the display appeared that she took an involuntary step back. A glowing grid was now superimposed on her vision, with bright dots representing clones filling up her field of view.

"This is marvelous!" she exclaimed gleefully. "You guys are pure sabacc, you know that?"

The medics fidgeted with embarrassment at the compliment, yet they both radiated pride.

"How do you work the comlink?" Goose asked as she pushed it into her ear.

"By clicking your back teeth," said Coric. "You might want to spend some time later getting used to it. Also…" he trailed off.

They shared an unsure glance.

"Also, we can get you some new uniforms if you…you know…" Jules continued for him awkwardly, "We noticed that yours are a little…dated."

Goose sighed and looked at her fatigues. Not only were they old and dirty, as the whole mess hall probably noticed that morning, she had also not showered since before leaving Virgillia. How could she have forgotten something so simple? Goose cringed internally at the thought that she was starting to smell.

"Well…ahhh…maybe." She answered slowly, "It depends. What color are they?"

"White, I think." Jules replied.

Goose absentmindedly chewed on her lip as she considered it. White was…not a very good color for a uniform. It would be a hassle to clean them, and they'd also make her an obvious target to any snipers or enemy soldiers. However, she did not really want to hurt their feelings too badly.

"White? No, I don't think that'll work for me." She said finally, "They get dirty to easily, and stains are impossible to wash out. I'll stick with the green."

Goose rocked on her heels for a moment.

"And I'm sorry if I'm starting to stink…" she apologized, "I'm not used to taking regular showers anymore. I generally only manage one every two to three days, but I do promise to try a bit harder."

Visibly, they did not seem surprised, but Goose could only imagine what they were thinking.

"That is very understandable," Coric said tactfully. "It was a temporary hospital, after all."

She tried, yet could not suppress a snort.

"That doesn't quite cover it," Goose laughed grimly. "The showers were no more than wooden stalls with hoses in them." She smiled wryly "No one bathed in the winter, if they could help it."

"You'll like it on the Resolute, then," Jules said encouragingly. "There's never a shortage of hot water."

At that, Goose grinned like an idiot.

"Hot water, huh?" she said wistfully, "I haven't taken a warm shower in so long, I might accidentally develop pneumonia or something."

For the second time that day, Coric glanced at the wall chrono, and this time he saw that it was 1730.

"Hey, I'm starved." said Coric. "Let's go grab some dinner."

Jules cocked his head to the side, as if he'd remembered something.

"That reminds me. We missed you at lunch, Goose." added Jules.

Her eyes widened in sudden shock, and she gasped theatrically.

"Lunch! I forgot about lunch!" Goose pretended to be distraught. "Onwards, to the food!" she cried with enthusiasm.

Goose dramatically charged out of the medbay, leaving behind the two bewildered clones.

* * *

Not long later, after Goose had once more reassured her new friends that she wasn't insane and was simply very hungry, Coric asked if she'd rather eat at the officer's mess.

"No, I most certainly would not," Goose replied. "I'd much rather eat with you lot than a bunch of holier-than-thou military schmucks," she grinned. "Then again, if anyone starts quoting regulations, I'm out."

To that statement, Coric had merely nodded noncommittally. The rest of the short trip to the mess passed uneventfully. When she walked in the door, the noise subsided quickly and attention turned to her, just as it had last time. Anticipating this, Goose took an exaggerated bow as if she were some sort of celebrity, which at the moment it certainly it felt like it. More confused staring ensued.

"You know, I feel like I should be doing a song and dance routine right now, the way they're watching me," she said uneasily.

Coric had disappeared off somewhere, and she was left standing in the doorway with Jules. Thankfully, the attention of the dining clones had dissipated much more quickly than last time.

"They'll get over it, I'm sure." Jules said tactfully as he guided her toward the chow line.

Goose glanced around the room, and could not tell where Coric had gone to. Of course, this was not surprising, as they were clones, after all.

"Where'd Coric go?" she asked as they stepped into line.

"Probably went to check up on his squad." Jules answered.

"Oh. Are you part of the same squad?"

"No, Coric is a sergeant. He commands the squad, and it doesn't need more than one medic." Jules smiled shyly, "I'm just a private. Coric and I went through medic training together. We're still friends."

Goose just nodded. The line had reached the food, and she surveyed it with interest. The main course appeared to be a grilled nuna cutlet, with some sort of mashed tuber and badly overcooked vegetables. None of it looked like it had been seasoned, and the nuna seemed a bit dry. Overall, it was typical army fare.

While she helped herself, Goose noticed that the clone in front of her acted almost as if he were fearful of her. He flinched when she accidentally bumped his arm, and practically fled once he'd gotten all his food. Goose was perplexed by his behavior, but she realized that all the clones she'd seen so far had acted similarly.

Even Jules and Coric, who were perhaps the most outgoing out of all of them she'd met, with the exception of the Captain, seemed wary of her. She wondered why such physically strong soldiers were so nervous around her, especially since she was a good six inches shorter than all of them. They couldn't all be afraid of doctors, could they?

"Jules, what's up with everybody?" Goose asked carefully, "Haven't they ever seen a girl before?"

It took him a moment to respond.

"For the most part, no." answered Jules slowly. "We don't get out very much."

He said it so sincerely that she nearly believed him, then decided there was no way it could be true.

"You're joking," Goose snorted as they sat down at a partially filled table.

"No, I'm serious." Jules said quietly.

This time, she believed him.

"So…none of you have met a woman before?" Goose asked incredulously, "Before today, I mean."

"We've…heard about them before, and we saw pictures during flash training, but otherwise…no." Jules replied uncomfortably. "Never."

She absorbed this information for a while, and started to eat her dinner. Suddenly, something occurred to her.

"Why did you want to talk to me so much, if everyone else is so cautious of me?" Goose asked teasingly.

She began to busily slice up her nuna cutlet to hide her amusement as he blushed furiously. Fortunately for him, there was no one sitting close enough to hear him struggle.

"Well, I just- um, you see I-" he spluttered, "I've never met a surgeon before! And I was…curious."

Goose chuckled at his discomfort as she finished cutting the nuna. She'd made quick work of it, slicing with effortless surgical precision. In fact, she'd even held the table knife like a scalpel, just out of habit.

"If you want to see some surgery, I'm sure you'll get a front row view any day now." Goose muttered as she ate some nuna. It was dry, but acceptable.

"I think I'd like that," Jules replied, just as a group of clones sat down at their end of the table.

Goose spent the rest of the meal talking with these clones, and she learned a great deal more about the war and the Grand Army itself. She also learned their names, which were Ged, Hez, and Nax. Ged, Nax, and Jules were all in the same squad, and Hez was their sergeant. They too seemed mildly anxious around her, but became more comfortable as time went on. From them, and from Jules as well, she heard all about the many virtues of the DC-15 blaster and the superiority of Republic kit.

Over the course of their conversation, Goose began to notice a few things about them. The most important thing, she supposed, was that even though they all looked the same, they were all very different. Ged, a demolitions expert, seemed laid back but was in fact very curious about many things. Hez was stern, and it was clear that his squad respected him, but they interacted more as friends than officer and subordinate. Nax, who was quite the joker, possessed a type of cynicism that Goose simply had to applaud. Compared to his robust squad mates, Jules was actually a little more reserved.

Besides their different personalities, Goose also saw that they had their distinct mannerisms as well. Nax was very animated with his hands. He waved them around endlessly when he talked, as if it helped him get his point across. Hez had the most expressive eyebrows she'd ever seen, and Ged liked to look around a lot. From the forty-five minutes she met these men, she began to understand clones better. Not only that, but Goose started to see how they were individuals, when it would be so easy to only think of them as another face in the crowd.

When they finished, they said their goodbyes and left. The first wave of diners had mostly gone, and the latecomers were just arriving.

"Jules, I think I'm going to take a shower and hit the sack," Goose yawned quietly. "See you tomorrow?"

"Of course,"

They both stood and returned their trays, then headed toward the door.

"Good night, Goose." said Jules.

"G' night." Goose mumbled back.

Then they parted company, Jules heading to the barracks, and Goose to her quarters. She almost couldn't find her way back because she hadn't been paying much attention earlier, and also because the hallways and doors all looked the same. Eventually, she made it, and walked in with a grateful sigh. Despite her nap and the fact that she hadn't done very much that day, she was still had the unmistakable feeling that she was bushed. She'd also just had a full meal, which only helped to add to her drowsiness.

However, she had not stopped thinking about taking a shower since she first remembered there was such a thing, and was determined to get washed up before she went to bed. Goose keyed open the door to the refresher. It was small and utilitarian, with a durasteel sink, a small mirror, a toilet, and tiny shower. The whole room was spotless, and she doubted it had ever been used before. Elated, Goose flipped on the hot water, and took the longest shower of her life.


	6. Caf and What's a Kama?

#6 Caf and…What's a Kama?

* * *

Goose drifted to consciousness with the gradual awareness that the ship was in hyperspace. The telltale thrum of the engine and the soft vibration of the deck had slowly woken her up, though she had no idea how long the ship had been traveling.

After Goose finally struggled to full wakefulness, she grumbled sleepily as she forced herself upright. The grumble became an unintelligible groan after she realized that she'd overslept. She stared drowsily at her boots, which were by the side of her bed, but decided that it would take far too much effort to put them on, and just left them where they were.

She then heaved herself to her feet, fully prepared to wander the ship in her socks. Goose was clad only in her pajamas, consisting of a faded yellow t-shirt with _Bad Spellers of the Galaxy, Untie!_ printed on the front, and a pair of shorts that may once have been sweatpants. She was so groggy did not even notice the state of disarray her hair was in.

At the door she paused, her bleary mind realizing she may not want to leave her quarters so incompletely dressed. Still half asleep, Goose didn't feel like getting changed, so she dug her robe out of her duffel bag and pulled it on. It was red, plaid, and slightly worn looking. The robe itself was a little too long, and it swished around her ankles a lot, but was undeniably the most comfortable thing she owned.

Normally she would have tied it, but Goose was feeling too lethargic to even manage that, so she lumbered out of her quarters thusly dressed.

* * *

Goose knew it was probably too late for any hope of getting breakfast, but she was hungry, so she made her way to the mess hall anyway. Unsurprisingly, the room was completely devoid of anyone, save the few serving droids who were still cleaning up. Goose sauntered up to the nearest droid and tapped it on what she assumed was its shoulder.

"Hey, buddy, think you can rustle up some caf and something to go?" she asked with a yawn.

The droid turned and gave a cold, mechanical stare.

"Breakfast service ended approximately 34.7 minutes ago." replied the droid in a stiff monotone, though Goose could have sworn she heard a hint of disdain, "Service will not resume until lunch. Good day."

The droid went back to its work without a backward glance, leaving Goose in a stunned silence. But only momentarily.

"I'm not waiting until lunch!" she objected, "I won't make it without at least a cup of caf."

Caf, which was only seen as liquid energy to many sentients, was to Goose the quintessence of life itself. There was no way she was going to leave without some.

"Service will not resume until lunch." The droid repeated in the same robotic drone, although it sounded vaguely annoyed. "Good day."

"Come on!" said Goose, exasperated. "I know there's got to be _something_ left back there! I'll get it myself if I have to."

The droid ignored her. Incensed, she decided to take matters into her own hands and started toward the galley, only to be blocked by a different droid.

"Authorized personnel only." it said, "Not admittance."

Goose was in fact no longer hungry, and had reached the end of her patience. Caf was only a mere couple of meters away. She could not be turned away now. Goose snatched an unused mug from a stack on a nearby table, and shoved it into the droid's hands. Her eyes were narrowed in anger.

"Go into that blasted galley, and get me blinking cup of caf, right now" she whispered dangerously, "Or I'll have you transferred to a soup kitchen in a slum on Coruscant!"

Apparently, the droids in the room had very good hearing, because they all paused what they were doing to watch. However, her opposition was not moved.

"That is illogical." replied the offending droid, "You do not have the authority."

At that, Goose smiled grimly. Victory was close, she could practically taste the caf now. "You want to bet? I'm…friends with the quartermaster." Goose bluffed, "What's your serial number?"

The droid seemed to weigh its options, then turned and went into the galley. Goose exulted in her imminent success and smiled craftily. Soon, the caf would be hers. It emerged a few moments later with the mug filled to the brim and handed it over with contempt, though Goose chose to ignore it. The droid then returned to its work once more, as if nothing had happened. If a droid could have an ego, she would say that this one's was bruised.

Content with her morning's conquest, Goose strode out of the mess hall, and did not cause any more trouble.

"That could have been worse…" she murmured to herself once she was in the hallway.

Triumphantly, she took a drink of her caf.

It was cold.

A few minutes later, after a rather crude rant about droids and their lack of certain physical characteristics, which she was glad no passersby happened to witness, Goose took another sip of caf. She nearly spat it out, but didn't because it was too hard won.

Upon further reflection, she realized it was odd that she hadn't seen anyone yet. Of course, it was a big ship, but they had to be _somewhere_.

Goose thought about returning to her room, or possibly going to the medbay, but knew she'd wind up incredibly bored. She also realized that she actually missed Jules and Coric, who though rather naïve, were still decent company. Ged, Hez, and Lunn had been nice as well. She also had a pretty good idea where they all were at this hour.

* * *

At the door to the training room, Goose paused to take another sip of caf, but winced at how bad it was. She was reluctant to enter because she really had no idea who was in there, but decided to regardless because it was the only place she could think of to find someone to talk to. She really no longer wanted the caf, and did not want to hold it, so she set it down next to the wall before going in. Upon entering, she was greeted by a most pleasant sight.

In the center of the room, which was really quite large, Captain Rex was leading what she assumed was Torrent Company in some sort of hand-to-hand combat drill. They were in pairs, and it seemed to Goose that they were just thrashing at each other randomly. There had to be some sort of strategy behind it, but if there was, she could not see it.

After all, every single one of them was stripped to the waist, and covered in a sheen of sweat. Their skin was bronzed, and powerful muscles rippled with every movement. Such a masculine display made her want to roll her eyes, though it also made her feel a little giddy.

Among the sea of identical faces, and without the more defining parts of the armor, it was impossible to tell any of them apart. That is, with the exception of the Captain, who Goose had just realized was wearing some sort of ridiculous blue kilt-like thing that matched his armor. The other day, she hadn't noticed it because he was sitting down. Now that she saw it…it just looked silly.

She ended up staring openly as they grunted and punched at each other, a stupid grin stuck on her face. Undoubtedly, many of them would be embarrassed when they found out she'd watched them like this. It was not long before she started to giggle a bit because of the fun she was having. The Captain, who was nearest to who, noticed her presence first.

"What are you doing here?" the Captain asked plainly.

"I get lonely," Goose answered cheekily. "You know, being a social flarewing and all that."

They all seemed to be looking her over, and she suddenly became intensely aware that the front of her robe was wide open, and she was wearing a flimsy t-shirt and shorts in front of close to two hundred sweaty and very well-muscled men.

"You're out of uniform." He said next, though he sounded more confused than disapproving.

Goose took the opportunity to draw her robe closed, and she crossed her arms.

"Sorry, I tried sleeping in my uniform once, but all the medals made it just too uncomfortable." Goose deflected sarcastically, and couldn't help adding, "Nice man-skirt, by the way."

His entire expression changed from curious detachment to outright aggravation.

"It's a _kama_ , not a skirt." He glowered.

"Sure it is." Goose replied, humoring him.

The Captain, however, was not amused.

"Dr. Gosling, you are disrupting this drill." he ground out, "If you would tell me what you want, I could help you."

Goose walked up to him in an exaggerated way, stroking her chin, as if deep in contemplation. Then she shrugged.

"To start off, I don't think we had a very good introduction." she smiled warmly and offered her hand, "Call me Goose."

He looked at her hand strangely, as if he didn't know exactly what he was expected to do. For a moment, Goose wondered if she should pull her hand back. However, he finally seemed to understand, and shook her hand firmly.

"Rex." he answered back. When they'd shaken hands, her robe had fallen open again. His eyes fell not on her body, but instead on the brace on her knee.

"What is that?" Rex asked, "Are you still recovering from some sort of injury?"

The brace was a sort of light gray color, and was more like a compression sleeve than anything else. It was very durable, yet thin enough that it could not be seen when something was worn over it.

"Oh, that? It's nothing." Goose laughed and waved dismissively, "Just an old reminder of my…wilder days. It acts up from time to time, but it won't be a problem."

Rex only nodded. By now, the clones assembled had begun to grow restless. Most of them had watched eagerly at the beginning, and barely stifled their laughter at Goose's remark about the _kama_ , but many were getting bored.

"You still haven't said why you're here," he prompted her. "Ah, yes!" She grinned sheepishly, "I completely forgot." "

Clearly." Rex responded dryly.

Goose chose to disregard his last statement.

"Originally, I only wanted to know where the ship was going." she said simply.

Captain Rex gave a short, frustrated sigh. Though she had not known it, Goose had only needed to access a computer terminal to find out where they were traveling.

"The ship is headed to Christophsis to help break a blockade." he said evenly, "We will arrive in a quarter hour."

Goose smiled in appreciation. "Thank you ever so much," she said pleasantly. "I'll be seein' ya!"

Goose then turned around sharply, swooshing her robe like a cape as she did so, and strode self-importantly out the way she'd come in.

Somewhere in the back of the room, Jules nudged Coric in the ribs.

"She does like her dramatic exits, doesn't she?" he laughed.

Captain Rex barked out the order to resume the drill. Without warning, Coric grabbed Jules and flipped him onto the ground.

"Yes, she does indeed." Coric chuckled knowingly.

* * *

Once out in the hallway, Goose started toward her quarters to get dressed, only to turn back a minute later. She'd nearly forgotten her terribly disappointing mug of caf. Much as she'd have liked to ditch it there, it would have been too rude to leave it for the janitor droids to take care of. However, Goose was also very reluctant to go back to the mess hall and face the judgement of the serving droids, so she compromised with herself. She would take the mug with her, but not return it. What she'd do with the mug, she had yet to figure out.

Goose took her time going back to her room, mostly because she didn't relish changing back into her fatigues. They were functional, yes, and she'd washed all of them before going to bed last night. The thing was for her that she never really liked Regular Army people, and she hadn't ever gotten used to walking around looking like one. When she got to her room, Goose gladly dumped the caf in the sink. Then she grabbed one of her newly cleaned uniforms up off the floor from where she'd dumped them, and got dressed. While she was halfheartedly attempting to smooth down an unruly tuft of her short hair, Goose noticed the gentle throbbing of the deck had slowed down, meaning the ship was coming out of hyperspace.

Moments later, the whole ship shuddered as what Goose assumed was a turbolaser volley hit the ship's shields. Return fire from the ship's own cannons loudly followed immediately afterward. Having been reaching down for her boots at that instant, Goose was now sat in an undignified sprawl on the floor.

"Fripping horrible time for a space battle!" she grumbled to herself as she stood up again.

After having experienced more that her fair share of artillery bombardments on Virgillia, this was hardly new to Goose. She grudgingly started pulling her boots on, but quickened her pace when another direct shot rocked the ship. Her quarters were in the bowels of the ship, so there were no portholes for her to see the battle from, but Goose assumed that they were fighting the blockade Rex had mentioned. There was no cause for alarm, at least not yet, though she knew that there were bound to be a few casualties by now. Boots now tied, Goose hurried to the medbay.


	7. The First Patient

#7 The First Patient

* * *

A minute later, Goose skidded into the medbay. She could still hear the turbolasers firing almost constantly, so the battle had to still have been going on, but you would not think so just by looking around. All the clones she'd encountered in the hallways were totally calm, and acting normally, not the least bit concerned. Had Goose not heard the laser fire, she would never have known there was a battle on.

The med droids had begun setting up to receive wounded, and already an injured clone had come in with a burn. The clone looked to be part of the bridge crew because he wore a gray cloth uniform, rather than the plastoid armor she'd seen on the infantry men. The 2-1B attending him was perfectly capable of taking care of this man, but Goose preferred to do it herself. She checked the droid's name tag before she addressed it.

"I've got this one, Leonard," Goose waved the droid away. "Go roll bandages or something."

Leonard gave a somewhat disappointed nod and shuffled off somewhere, though Goose did not watch long enough to see if it had actually taken her literally. She smiled at her new patient, and motioned for him to sit down on a pre-op biobed.

"Hi, I'm Goose. I'll be your doctor this morning." she said with her best impression of a waitress.

The clone looked surprised at seeing her, which Goose had been expecting, but she could tell from his strained look of pain that what he was focused on wasn't her. She snapped on some gloves and examined him more closely, finding that he had a few second-degree electrical burns over parts of both his hands. The damage wouldn't be permanent, because he would have immediate treatment, but it would take a while to heal. They looked very painful, though he barely showed it. Goose whistled in amazement.

"Those are quite some burns you've got there. What'd you do, have a disagreement with a live wire?" she quipped.

"Console short-circuited. Blew up." he gasped out.

"Tough break."

He was managing the pain exceptionally well, but the façade was still beginning to crack. Goose reached for a hypospray of morphine and held it up.

"For the pain?" she asked for confirmation.

The clone quickly nodded his assent, and Goose gave him the shot in the neck. A look of utter relief flooded his face as she did so.

"Now let's see what I can do about those burns."

She pulled a burn kit off a supply cart, and sat down in a chair in front of him.

"So what's your name?" Goose asked conversationally, hoping to divert his attention from his injuries. "Don't bother telling me a number, either."

"I'm called Quin." he answered guardedly.

Goose nodded, as she used a damp cotton swab to clean out the burns as gently as possible. Pain meds or no, they were still sure to hurt him, but he may not notice it as much if he was talking.

"What do you do, Quin?" she continued.

"I work on the bridge. I manage long-distance communications."

Goose had quickly finished debriding the burns, and had moved on to applying an anti-bacterial gel. Fortunately, her distraction was working, and he was starting to relax a bit.

"You like it?"

"It's good enough." Quin replied noncommittally.

By then, Goose had already sprayed the burns with bacta and was covering them with synthflesh to help them heal.

"Would you rather do anything else?" she kept probing.

"Of course not, it's what I was trained to do." he said matter-of-factly.

Goose finished wrapping his hands with gauze, and was using surgical tape to hold it down.

"I'm afraid that you'll have to miss some work, then."

Quin looked down, and seemed surprised that she was already done. Goose had a lot of experience with these types of injuries, and they took her no time at all. Had this been a normal hospital, he'd probably still be filling out some sort of form.

"How long?" he asked with slight dismay.

His hands were now neatly bandaged up, which meant that he couldn't do much of anything with them.

"Don't worry, you'll be right as rain in a week or so. Shouldn't be any scarring, either."

Goose tugged off her gloves and threw them away, then reached for one of the medbay's datapads to update his chart. She pressed a couple of buttons, but found that she had no idea how to access the patient records.

"I'm afraid I've never seen this software before," Goose sighed. "Do you know how to use it?"

"Just scan my microchip." Quin said plainly.

Goose stared at him, utterly bewildered. She could not understand what he was talking about.

"What microchip?" she asked, puzzled.

In response, he held out his right wrist and said, "Right here. Press that button on the side."

Goose pressed the button he'd indicated, and the 'pad automatically scanned the microchip embedded in his wrist. His complete medical history instantly popped up on the screen.

"Uh…Thanks." she muttered uncomfortably.

Despite how he clearly though it was normal, Goose couldn't help but feel that something was just…wrong. He had a microchip, like some sort of animal. Could it be that everyone treated them like this, like a bunch of nerfs?

"Well, I suppose I should let you go now. Come back at least once every twelve hours to get those bandages changed, all right?" she smiled gently.

"Thank you, ma'am."

He turned crisply and left the medbay, apparently none the wiser to her unease. Goose shook her head. An army of cloned men all fighting for the sake of the Republic, which claimed to be the pinnacle of freedom, were microchipped like livestock. It was absolutely mad.

* * *

Not long later, while Goose was cleaning up the supplies she'd used, she felt the deck dip down to the left a bit, meaning that the ship was probably turning around. The ship shuddered one last time, then all the turbolasers fell quiet, the enemy ones as well. The only sound to be heard was the humming of the engine. That must have meant that the ship was retreating, or at the very least, regrouping. When she'd been working on helping Quin, Goose had merely tuned out all the noise so she could concentrate. Now the silence was deafening.

Not long later, another clone wandered in with a small laceration from falling against a bulkhead during the fighting. This one was an infantry soldier, and was more than eager to leave. He made it perfectly clear that he was only in the medbay because he'd been ordered to go, and had no intention of staying any more than absolutely necessary. Goose only laughed at his impatience, then took longer than she had to just to mess with him.

The cut was mostly superficial, however, and she was finished with it quickly, and just as quickly he was gone. No more casualties were likely to show up, so Goose sat down at a computer terminal to try and find out more about the recent scuffle in space. Unfortunately, the report had not been posted yet. Having nothing left to do, Goose kicked her feet up and leaned back in her chair to take a nap.

* * *

Much to her dismay, Rex came in looking for her before she could properly fall asleep.

"Captain Gosling, if I am not interrupting-" Rex began politely.

"But you _are_ interrupting," Goose cut him off crankily, "And don't call me 'captain' again, even if it is my rank. It's weird."

He was probably shooting her an irritated glare, but she couldn't tell because he still had his helmet on. Goose had hoped they'd come to some sort of understanding that morning, but it was more than likely that he had an even lower opinion of her than yesterday. That was also acceptable to her, because this was going to be a long war, and tormenting him might help pass the time.

"General Skywalker requests your attendance on a mercy mission to aid Republic troops on Christophsis," he continued stiffly. "The shuttle to the Negotiator will leave in ten minutes."

Goose stared at him for a long moment. He had to be kidding.

"How is a mercy mission supposed to get to the surface if there's a blockade around the planet?" she laughed. "You're not serious, are you?"

"I didn't give the order, I'm only following it." Rex ground out, "You have nine minutes. I suggest you hurry."

He was dead serious, and Goose wasn't sure what to do. This was nuts! How could she expected to be ready to go into a warzone in nine minutes?

"Kark me!" Goose swore. "I haven't got anything packed! I'm going to need some surgical supplies, sterile instruments, bacta…"

Having delivered his message, Rex strode out of the medbay, apparently not interested in her predicament. Goose stumbled around, not sure what to grab first or what to put it in, then remembered the pre-packed medkits in the supply room. She rushed in and snagged one off the shelf, then hurried out of the medbay and toward her quarters, muttering curses all the while.

When Goose burst into her room, she crammed a spare uniform and a toothbrush into an extra pocket of the medkit. Then she checked the chrono, and saw she had only five minutes left.

"Drok it, Skywalker! I haven't even met you yet, and I'm already starting to hate you." Goose groused as she hightailed it to the hanger.

* * *

When she got to the hanger, only two minutes late, the shuttle was thankfully still there. Walking up the gangplank was an older-looking officer who was not a clone. This was the first non-clone she'd seen onboard, so naturally Goose's curiosity was piqued. By the time she got inside the shuttle, he'd already sat down on one of a row of seats backed up against the wall, so Goose took a seat opposite him. Obviously the shuttle pilot was in a hurry, because the small craft lifted off before either of them could say anything.

"Good morning, Captain." he said pleasantly, "What business do you have on the Negotiator?"

Again, it felt strange for Goose to be called 'captain'. Of course, this man was Regular Army, so he couldn't be blamed. Goose had no idea what his rank was, because she'd never paid any attention to that kind of thing before anyway. She could only guess that he had a high rank because of how old he was, and the way he carried himself. He possessed a stern face with a well-groomed moustache, and spoke with a refined Anaxes accent that suggested a military upbringing. Overall, he didn't seem to be someone she'd like very much.

"I'm going on the relief mission." She replied casually, "I'm General Skywalker's new cutter."

"I beg your pardon…?"

Goose could only tell he was confused by the way his eyebrows scrunched together. Otherwise, his expression had hardly changed.

"Oh, right…'cutter' is doctor slang for a surgeon." she laughed inwardly.

"Ah, I see." he nodded politely, "I suppose I owe you an introduction. I am Admiral Yularen, commander of the Resolute."

Goose coughed lightly, and her eyes widened. He was an _Admiral_? Even though she had very little regard for military customs, Goose knew that she should have treated him with a little more respect. What rankled her, however, was that he seemed to have enjoyed catching her off guard, if the slight twitch of his lips was anything to go by. Goose briefly considered saluting, but quickly dismissed the idea. She saluted for nobody.

"Um…well I guess you already know what I do," Goose struggled to control the pitch of her voice. "I'm Doctor Gosling."

She'd given her formal name only because it would feel odd for the army brass to call her by a nickname.

"It is a pleasure, Doctor Gosling," the Admiral said tactfully. "I am going on the same mission as you are. As a consultant, I suppose."

Goose knew next to nothing about the actual mission, and had no idea what he could be consulting about. Rather than betray her ignorance, she changed the subject.

"What is the Negotiator, anyway?" Goose asked.

"Why, the Negotiator is a Venator-class star destroyer, just like the Resolute. It is also General Kenobi's flagship," he answered patiently. "As a matter of fact, we're landing right now."

The Admiral was right, of course. The trip between ships had been short, and they'd arrived in no time at all.

"We should hurry now," he continued. "We've already delayed the General's departure, and I do not want to keep him waiting."

He clearly was in a rush, because he was walking down the gangplank before it had completely finished lowering. Goose followed at a slower pace because she was struck with awe at what she saw. A long, tube-like ship filled most of the rest of the hanger, which was near identical to the Resolute's. It must have been close to a hundred meters long, with a pointed cockpit and flared out engine compartment. What really drew her attention, however, were the large bronze-colored panels along the ship's length. What else could they be but cloaking emitters?

Suddenly, it all made sense. This ship had a cloaking device, which meant that they could easily slip through the blockade while under cloak to deliver supplies to Christophsis. Goose had never been on a cloaked ship before, so this was experience she was not about to miss out on. She internally cheered with delight, then followed after the Admiral.

When she walked aboard the stealth ship, Admiral Yularen was conferring with a young man in dark robes, who actually didn't look as old as Goose was. At first she thought he was just another passenger, but one look at the lightsaber hilt clipped to his belt told her otherwise.


	8. Christophsis or Bust

#8 Christophsis or Bust

* * *

Goose was very confused. What business could a jedi have on a stealth ship? She knew that they went on unusual missions for the Republic, but this didn't seem high profile enough to warrant a jedi's involvement. Goose thought about interrupting them, because at this point she was quite confused, but they seemed very intent on their discussion so she refrained. Instead, Goose followed at a distance and absorbed her new surroundings.

The ship itself was a bit on the smaller side, and the interior somewhat cramped. Consoles and sensor readout panels were packed together tightly, with some of the crew working practically back to back because of all the cargo containers lining the sides of the ship. Lights blinked and instruments dinged, often drawing her attention several directions at once. By far, this ship was unequaled by any other spacecraft Goose had ever stepped foot on. It also possessed a sort of maniacal look that she found reminded her a lot of her favorite childhood holonet shows.

"Dag!" she exclaimed appreciatively, "This looks like a ship a villain out of a Semaj D'nob holovid might use."

Goose had meant to say it only for her own benefit, but apparently sound carried on a small ship such as this. The clone crew did not appear to notice, though they were probably watching discreetly. The Jedi, whose conversation with Admiral Yularen was just about over anyway, took note right away.

"Who are you?" the Jedi asked almost accusingly.

Goose sent him a strange look. Even though she wasn't in the most conventional uniform, it still had to be obvious what she was. After all, the caduceus symbol pinned to her collar would identify her as a surgeon almost anywhere in the galaxy. Jedi were supposed to be wise, weren't they?

"Doctor Gosling, trauma surgeon." Goose replied by way of introduction, trying not to sound too offended. "I'm looking for General Skywalker."

"That's me." he replied somewhat arrogantly.

Goose let her confusion spread across her face. She had never known that a jedi could also be a general. In fact, she didn't think it possible for them to even be in the army at all.

"Oh," she muttered mostly to herself. "Really?"

She must have come off as disappointed rather than puzzled, because he became defensive.

"Do you have a problem with that?" the Jedi demanded hotly.

Goose sent him a cold look. He was acting like a sullen teenager, and she didn't feel like taking him seriously. Even the Admiral was starting to look uncomfortable. Weren't jedi also supposed to be rational?

"No, it's just I didn't know a jedi could _be_ a general." she answered pointedly. "That's all."

"It has been all over the holonet, doctor," Admiral Yularen interjected diplomatically.

Goose knew that the Admiral was only trying to defuse the situation, so she tried to rein in her temper. However, it was difficult because Skywalker had a chip on his shoulder wider than the Jedi Temple, and it was really starting to get to her.

"Well, I _have_ almost literally been living in a hole, up until recently." She said snidely.

Skywalker was beginning to look angry, so Goose thought it best to stop goading him.

"Don't worry, my surgical skills probably exceed anything else you'll find in this sector." She smiled nonchalantly, "Even if I did just come from a planet clinging to the butt-hairs on the backside of the galaxy."

Apparently, he did not find her attempt at humor amusing, nor did he seem to understand she was trying to back out of a full scale argument.

"Aren't you too young to be a surgeon?" the Jedi asked antagonistically.

He did have a point, because Goose was not as old as one would expect a surgeon to be. However, she was not about to lose this…whatever it was.

"I could say the same for you." She returned smoothly.

Skywalker seemed like he was close to losing his temper, but he never got the chance.

"Everyone's on board. We are go!" came a shout from somewhere else on the ship.

Goose recognized it immediately as a clone's voice, most likely an officer. It was time to get to work. Skywalker shot her a glowering this-isn't-over-yet look before he grudgingly sat down in the pilot's seat. For some reason unknown to her, he was flying the ship. She didn't dare ask, because his mood was already dangerous enough. The Jedi opened a comm channel with the flight controller.

"Dispatch, we're powering up and ready to go." Skywalker said to the flight operator.

He received an affirmative message, then the massive hanger doors above them slowly ground open. The ship lifted off gently, and eased out of the hanger. Almost immediately, the cabin was filled with chatter as the clone crew went about running the ship's systems and preparing to cloak. From her spot in the cockpit, Goose could see the rest of the Republic fleet and the moon it was hiding behind. The stealth ship was starting to come around the moon, and she could begin to see the enemy blockade.

"Engage cloaking device." the Jedi ordered calmly.

The whole ship was filled with expectant silence as the ship began to cloak. Goose was momentarily startled to see the nose of the ship disappear before her eyes. When the report came that the cloak was successful, everyone but her breathed a collective sigh of relief. It didn't occur to her until then that they hadn't been sure that the cloak was even going to work. Now Goose wasn't all that confident about going on this mission. What if the enemy sensors could detect them after all?

Everything seemed to be going well, because the enemy ships did not react to their presence at all. Then, in what appeared to be an act of insanity, Skywalker started guiding the ship right past the turbolaser emplacements on the largest enemy cruiser. The cannons didn't fire, which meant the cloak was working, but Goose couldn't help holding her breath until they cleared the cruiser's engines. She wasn't so sure about this General's mental health, but at least everything was going well enough.

"Doesn't look like they can detect us," Skywalker said triumphantly.

"Yes, but if you get any closer, they may not need scanners to know we are here." Admiral Yularen tried to caution him, a note of irritation in his voice.

"Relax, Admiral," he replied dismissively. "Hey, you _wanted_ to come on this ride."

At that remark, Goose couldn't help rolling her eyes and suppressing a snort.

"Well _I_ didn't." she muttered mostly to herself.

From the flicker of annoyance that crossed his face, Goose knew that Skywalker had heard her, but he didn't react. The ship continued at a relatively slow pace toward Christophsis, which looked more and more ominous the closer they got. Suddenly, the scanner in the cockpit started beeping insistently as it registered a dozen enemy craft, headed straight at them.

"General, we have incoming bombers with fighter escort!" the clone copilot reported.

Skywalker merely set his face and took a deep breath. Internally, Goose was beginning to panic. This was turning out to be far more dangerous than she'd ever anticipated.

"Enemy ships closing," the copilot continued. "Fifteen thousand…..fourteen thousand…thirteen thousand…."

Goose shifted her feet as she listened to him count down the distance between them and the enemy ships. Did they know where their ship was, or was it just a fluke?

"What's our defensive capability?" Skywalker demanded.

"We've got torpedoes and anti-aircraft cannons, sir," the copilot answered tensely. "But we've got to decloak to use either."

"Yeah, and if they don't already know we're here, that will give away our position away pretty quickly." he grumbled bitterly.

Goose's mouth began to grow dry. Never before had she felt so trapped.

"Nine thousand…eight thousand…"

"Have they detected us?" Admiral Yularen asked urgently.

"Can't tell, sir." The copilot replied.

"If we are going on the defensive, we must do it soon!" the Admiral warned.

Skywalker's face had a faraway look, and his eyes were in defocus. For a moment, Goose was afraid he didn't know what to do.

"Come on, Skywalker…" she mumbled under her breath.

"Five thousand….four thousand….."

All around the ship, the crew was looking around, waiting for instructions. Goose could not take her eyes off the screen as she watched the enemy ships speed toward them. If those ships were after the stealth ship and not a target on the planet, they were all farkled.

"Stay cloaked," Skywalker finally ordered. "Power everything else down. Let her drift."

Lights dimmed and systems powered down as the crew complied with the command. The cabin fell completely silent as everyone waited to see the outcome of their gamble.

"Why is everyone so quiet?" Goose laughed nervously, "Sound can't travel over the vacuum of space. It's not like they can hear us or anything…"

She received stern looks from everyone in earshot, so she kept her mouth shut after that. Only the copilot's countdown broke the silence.

"Two thousand….one thousand…."

Admiral Yularen leaned over the copilot to take a better look at the scanner.

"They're going to hit us!" he cried.

"Five hundred!"

Mere moments later, a dozen enemy craft streaked past the ship, no more than a meter from the transparisteel of the cockpit. Goose let out a sob of relief once they were far enough away to be sure they weren't coming back to blow them up.

"They missed us!" Skywalker smiled, "They don't know we're here."

Admiral Yularen hardly seemed to hear him. His eyes were fixed firmly on the enemy bombers as they continued to the surface. He gasped as he realized what their target was.

"They're heading for Bail Organa and the command center," he shouted. "They're going to bomb it!"

Goose looked on in horror, though there was no way she could see what was happening on the surface. She could only imagine how many people were dying down there, and she hoped all the civilians had been evacuated. Goose felt the overwhelming need to be down there, to be helping whoever was still alive.

"Can't we get there any faster?" Goose asked carefully.

Everyone continued to ignore her as they went about their duties, though everyone looked on edge. A minute or so later, a blue hologram of another jedi with his arms crossed popped up in the front of the cockpit.

"Anakin, I've just spoken to the Senator. They're in dire need of our help." the Jedi said firmly, "Continue with your mission to the planet's surface. I will engage Trench's fleet with the ships I already have."

"General Kenobi, with all due respect, you do not have the resources to engage Trench openly." Admiral Yularen objected fervently, "He wants you to attack! You'll be walking into a trap."

"He's right, Master. You won't stand a chance," Skywalker said slowly.

"Anakin, I have enough problems without you becoming one of them." Kenobi returned wearily. "Get those supplies to the refugee camp! I'll worry about Trench, just stay on course and-"

"That tactic won't work!" Skywalker cut in angrily. He turned to his copilot, "Prep torpedo tubes one through four, fix range on Trench's command ship."

"Sir?" the Admiral asked, flabbergasted.

"You heard me, Admiral," Skywalker said warningly.

"What are you doing?" Kenobi demanded.

"We need to destroy Trench, and this ship has the best chance of doing that." Skywalker answered self-righteously.

"I want those supplies on the surface _now_." Kenobi ordered frustratedly.

"Don't worry, I'm on it." he replied smugly, clearly with no intention of doing as he asked.

"Anakin!" the hologram shouted, before it fizzled away as Skywalker cut the connection.

Goose had intently followed the entire exchange, and though she didn't know exactly what was going on, she could make a good guess. The Republic forces on Christophsis were crumbling, and it was doubtless that there were dozens in need of medical care after the latest bombing raid. The jedi in the hologram was Skywalker's superior, his Master he had called him. Now he was openly disobeying his orders and was readying to attack Trench, the commander of the enemy blockade.

Her gut twisted in fear. He couldn't seriously be turning their tiny ship around to engage an entire fleet! It was suicide, and he had to know it. Kenobi was right, they needed those supplies down there, immediately. People were dying, and she had the ability save them, but stuck here in space she was useless. Goose could not see how they could possibly win, not against these odds.

"That guy just told you to go to the surface!" she cried as Skywalker turned the ship about, "Wasn't he the higher-ranked one?"

If he noticed how poor her grasp of military terminology was, he did not show it. He seemed more interested in berating her than nitpicking at her vocabulary.

"We are the same rank, and _I_ am in charge of this mission." Skywalker snapped, "Attacking is the best way to relieve pressure from Senator Organa, whether Obi-Wan agrees with me or not."

Goose did not know who Obi-Wan was, but she guessed it had to be Kenobi's first name. He did not seem likely to change his mind, but for the troops on Christophsis she had to try.

"The people planetside _need_ the medical supplies and ammunition we're carrying!" she pleaded, "We must go back and help them."

Everyone seemed utterly shocked that she dared to object to him. What was wrong with them? Didn't they see that he was a moron?

"We _are_ helping them." Skywalker refuted, though he lacked conviction. Then he started to give orders to his crew, "Prepare to decloak on my command. Prep torpedo tubes one through four. Fix range on Trench's command ship."

Dejectedly, Goose looked around for something to hold on to. Even if they weren't blown to bits the moment they decloaked, it was still going to be a bumpy ride.

"You realize our torpedoes may not be enough," Admiral Yularen cautioned Skywalker.

Goose brightened with hope when she saw that he also knew how laserbrained this plan was.

"All I want is for Trench to think about _us_ , instead of the people on the planet below." Skywalker grinned madly, "It's time to introduce ourselves."

By now, Goose was seriously starting to doubt his sanity. Why had they made him a General if he was this unstable? She was now thoroughly disillusioned with him, and was mentally preparing herself to die, just as she'd done every day since being drafted.

"Just how long do you think he'll still be thinking about us when we're a field of debris floating in space?" she muttered darkly to herself.

The ship buzzed with activity as the crew carried out his orders, and all Goose could do was stand there and watch. They seemed like good men, and she just couldn't understand how Skywalker could be willing to sacrifice all of their lives like this.

"Ready torpedoes! Lock onto primary target." Skywalker ordered calmly, "Disengage cloaking device!"

The cloak melted away, and the ship was completely visible to the enemy. Goose's breath caught in her throat as she realized they were up against a fleet with firepower a hundred times stronger than their own.

"Fire!" Skywalker barked.

Four torpedoes fired off at once, and sped toward the enemy ship's bridge. Then they detonated harmlessly against the enemy's shields. Goose cursed loudly as they all saw how terribly outmatched they were. Not only that, but they had completely lost the element of surprise. They say that no one ever falls for the same trick twice, but what if the trick didn't work in the first place?

"Well, that did little good!" Admiral Yularen shouted.

"Recloaking in nine…eight…." Skywalker started to count down as the enemy ship fired off their own volley of torpedoes. "seven…six…five…"

It soon became apparent that there was no way the ship would cloak in time. The torpedoes were coming right at them, and they was no avoiding it. Goose braced herself against a bulkhead and tried not to panic.

"Prep the flares!"

"It's too late, General!" the Admiral yelled.

Goose squeezed her eyes shut and held on as tightly as she could. Dying in space was always horrific, and she didn't want to see any of it. If she didn't die from the initial explosions, she would live just long enough to watch the atmosphere boil out of the ship as she was sucked out by the sudden depressurization to asphyxiate in the vacuum of space. Then her body would freeze and pinwheel through space forever, or at least until she burned up in the upper atmosphere of Christophsis.

"Launch flares!"

Flares burst out of the sides of the ship and toward the enemy torpedoes. Miraculously, all of them exploded safely when they encountered the flares. Meanwhile, the ship had recloaked, and the enemy sensors could no longer detect them.

Goose breathed a sigh of relief and slowly opened her eyes, only to be greeted by a massive barrage of laserfire all around them. She was too petrified to make any sort of noise, so all she could do was gape in horror at the imminent onslaught.

Somehow, Skywalker managed to successfully navigate the enemy bombardment, and the cannons had all fallen silent because they hadn't hit anything. Maybe it was his jedi intuition, or perhaps just plain luck. Whatever it was, it meant they were safe, at least for now.

Everyone slumped in their seats as they realized they were in the clear. Everyone, that is, except for Goose.

"Are you milking insane?" she all but screamed at Skywalker, "Did it _ever_ occur to you to drop me and the supplies off first, then do your crinking idiotic attack on your way back to the fleet?"

The whole ship went dead quiet. Of course the whole crew had heard her, and it sounded very much like insubordination. Skywalker turned in his seat to glare at her.

"Are you questioning my authority, Captain?" he asked dangerously.

Goose took a deep breath to calm herself, and the wild look in her eyes went away.

"No, I am not." she answered evenly, "I was simply trying to point out that there are people _dying_ on Christophsis, and you've denied them the aid that was promised to them. I can save lives, but by keeping me stuck out here you may as well be killing them."

Goose continued to stare at him accusingly, even as his anger threatened to boil over. Judging by the anxious looks from the crew, he was not used to being spoken back to. He appeared to be ready to thrash her, but just then a crewman ran up from the rear of the ship.

"General, there is a transmission on the open frequency," he reported breathlessly. "It's the enemy."

Skywalker ground his teeth in frustration, but managed to keep his emotions in check. Goose tried to dial her own feelings back, though she still harbored resentment against him. Provoking him would not do either of them any good.

"Put it through." he said tiredly.

A hologram of a hideous arachnoid alien popped up at the front of the cockpit. Goose nearly forgot her differences with Skywalker because she was so taken aback by its sheer ugliness. It was no wonder that was the enemy, since he certainly looked the part.

"I am Admiral Trench," it introduced itself pompously. "If you are listening, _jedi_ , you've made a bold move and a grave mistake. I appreciate your decision to face me ship-to-ship, to play this little game. It's been so long since I've had a worthy opponent, and you have an impressive new vessel. But I warn you, I have dealt with its kind before. Your technology will not save you, and your friends on the planet below will perish as a result of your failure. The people of Christophsis and her resources shall join the Separatist Alliance! Turn back now, retreat while you can, for I am your doom."

Had Goose not known he had the power to do what he threatened to do, she would have laughed. It was obvious he was putting up an act to intimidate them, because every movement and word he spoke was over exaggerated. It was all so melodramatic that had she not already been scared half out of her wits she'd believe it was some sort of prank.

But this was no prank, and he probably did intend to kill them all.

"He said that he'd dealt with this type of ship before…" Admiral Yularen murmured.

* * *

At the Admiral's insistence, Skywalker grudgingly agreed to contact General Kenobi for help. Initially furious that he'd engaged Trench, Kenobi eventually relented and performed a search of the military database.

"You were right, Admiral," Kenobi began. "There are records of Trench's battles, and a few against ships with cloaking devices."

"And?" Skywalker demanded impatiently.

"It seems in each case he used tracking torpedoes to hit the ships, somehow, whether it was cloaked or not." He continued.

"Then he knows a way of detecting us!" the Admiral interjected.

"With tracking torpedoes?" Skywalker mused. "What class of ships was he fighting?"

"Mostly cruiser to cruiser, nothing as small as your ship." Kenobi answered.

"No ship this small usually has a cloaking device." Skywalker thought out loud, "Maybe he's tracking our magnetic signature."

His face brightened as he realized he was on to something.

"Thank you, Obi-Wan." he said dismissively, "Hold off your attack until we destroy Trench."

Kenobi let out a long-suffering sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"Might I remind you that this is not your mission?" he asked futilely.

"You might," Skywalker replied cheekily before rudely ending the transmission. "Admiral, prepare to disengage cloaking device and fire."

The Admiral started pushing buttons. Goose had opted to stay in the cockpit regardless of how much Skywalker irritated her, and had seen the whole conversation. He was going to attack again, even though they could be tracked. It was even more of a suicide run than the last time, but she knew that nothing she could say would change his mind. He was reckless, but she dearly hoped he actually had a plan this time around.

"Battle stations!" the Admiral shouted to the whole ship.

A few moments later, they shouted back that they were ready.

"It's your move, General." Admiral Yularen announced.

Skywalker nodded grimly.

"Fire!" he ordered.

The ship rapidly decloaked, then fired off a volley of torpedoes. Once again, they blew up uselessly on their shields. As soon as he could, he recloaked the ship. However, if he had been right about the magnetic signature, Trench had undoubtedly already locked on to them. Hopefully, this was all part of his plan.

Sure enough, a full spread of torpedoes was fired from Trench's ship almost immediately, headed right for them.

"General, I really hope you know what you're doing." Admiral Yularen commented nervously.

Goose thought about adding her own thoughts, but decided they would not be very helpful in this situation.

"So do I, Admiral." Skywalker smiled manically.

Inwardly, Goose groaned. He didn't even know if it would work. There was nothing she could do, because it was too late now.

The torpedoes followed the ship as Skywalker turned it about and headed straight for the command ship.

"They took the bait!" he said triumphantly. "Turn off the cloaking device and divert all power to the engines."

Goose was beginning to see what he was trying to do, but she had no idea how he intended to pull it off. Even with full power to the engines, the torpedoes were gaining on them. Skywalker's face was lined with concentration as he guided the ship at breakneck speed.

Then, with an almost feral snarl, he flew the ship so close to Trench's command ship that he scraped against the cruiser's hull. His insane tactic actually worked, however, when the torpedoes destroyed the enemy's bridge. How he had known it would work, she could not guess. He was a nutcase, but at least they were still alive.

Rather than wait to watch the cascade of explosions that wracked the doomed ship, Skywalker continued on their original heading, toward Christophsis. The crew cheered their victory, and Goose smiled shakily to no one in particular. Her knees still felt wobbly, and she struggled to regain control over herself.

General Kenobi even sent a transmission to congratulate them, albeit reluctantly.

As they began to land, Goose started to roll up her sleeves to get ready to start working. The city was a shambles, and most of the buildings were bombed out ruins. Littered among the rubble were unmoving forms that she knew from experience to be dead bodies, likely those of the native Christophsians.

Aboard the ship, the mood was celebratory as the crew came down from the adrenaline high of the past half hour. Goose could still not believe it had only been that long when it had felt like an eternity. She was mentally exhausted, and it was only around midday.

The ship set down in a debris strewn square that had been cleared just enough to allow them to land. Goose grabbed her medkit, which had lain forgotten on the floor for a while, and slung it onto her back. Without a backward glance at Skywalker, she walked off the ship as soon as the gangplank was down. In the distance, she could both see and hear the battle that continued to rage not far from where she stood.

There were bound to be a multitude of casualties, and she doubted there were any real surgeons available besides her.

The day was not over yet, not by a long shot.

* * *

A/N: Good Readers, I will be spending most of the rest of summer travelling in Europe, so I will most likely be unable to update very often. I apologize, but I hope this longer chapter will make up for it. Please review, because I'd love to hear more feedback.


	9. It's a Jungle Out There

#9 It's a Jungle Out There

It was even more chaotic than she'd expected. Disorder and confusion were everywhere.

From what Goose could tell, there were no established frontlines, and fighting took place anywhere Republic and enemy troops happened to meet. She tried to listen in on the comm chatter, but couldn't make heads or tails of all the military lingo. After wandering a few blocks and finding not a living soul around, Goose began to despair of ever helping anyone. If she could not find the wounded, she most definitely had no way of helping them.

It was only after a rather painful bit of grit got in her eye that she remembered the contact lens Jules and Coric had given her. With the HUD, she should be able to find some of the wounded. She blinked twice, and once again she could see a bright map littered with colored dots. Much to her dismay, there were very few soldiers left fighting. A tally on the left edge of her vision showed the extent of the situation. Only about 240 able-bodied troopers were available. The rest were either dead or dying. Even as she watched, a green dot signifying a healthy soldier flashed red before disappearing altogether. He was dead, whoever he was.

Goose tried to force that thought out of her mind, and instead focused on going toward the area with the highest concentration of wounded, which she saw as yellow dots. She soon realized that where she was going was very, very close to the actual fighting. As she carefully made her way down the eerily deserted streets, the sounds of blasterfire and a myriad of explosions became more distinct. She had to walk past dozens of dead bodies, many of them civilians, who had probably been killed during the bombing. The cloying scent of death surrounded each of the bodies, and Goose dared not get too close.

She almost started to lose her concept of time as she trudged down that gallery of horrors, the horrors of war. Goose was only shaken out of her stupor when the whole street shook as enemy artillery erupted only a block away. She dove to the ground without even bothering to take the time to scream, though she certainly felt the need to. A long time ago, when she was still new to all of this, she'd descend into hysteria every time she heard an explosion. The very first bombardment she went through had left her a panicked and useless mess. By now, she had learned not to do that. Screaming would not save her, but getting to cover would.

Goose quickly curled up defensively against a mostly intact wall and tried to cover her ears. The blast was near enough she could feel the heat of it, but far enough away that the flying debris might give her some bruises but not kill her. She could feel the shock wave punch her in the chest and tingle all the way down to her toes, and the sound was almost deafening. Goose was absolutely terrified, but to her credit she managed to fight the urge to hyperventilate, though her breath still came in short, forced gasps.

When she was sure it was over, Goose cautiously unrolled herself and coughed out the dust she'd inhaled. She stood up on unsteady legs, her whole body visibly shuddering, her pulse still pounding in her ears. She took a deep, shaky breath to steady herself, and clenched her hands into fists so they'd stop trembling. Then Goose brushed the dirt and rubble off of herself, grimacing when she felt the welt forming where a particularly large chunk of masonry had connected squarely with her shoulder. She rubbed it gently as she tried to get her bearings again, which was made difficult by the fact that the newly demolished street was a challenge to navigate.

No more than a hundred feet from where she'd taken cover, the street had been turned into a twisted, blackened mess. Goose had seen no-man's land before, back on Virgillia when she'd been sent to help with the casualties in a mission very similar to this one. She had been appalled to see the devastation and utter destruction there, just as she was right then. The only difference between then and on Virgillia was that she'd had a team of medics working beside her there, and a few soldiers to protect them.

Here, on Christophsis, she was totally, completely alone. She had no backup, no help, and nobody to banter with. Never before had Goose been put in a situation like this, and it scared her silly. There was no one to give her instructions, and there wasn't anyone to ask for help from. She squared her shoulders, wincing a bit as it agitated the new contusion she'd forgotten about, and set her mind on figuring out how to proceed. Things would be different now, working right on the frontlines, and she would have to change. Becoming more independent would be a good start, because she had an important job to do.

Eventually, Goose managed to reorient herself, and doubled her speed toward the wounded.

* * *

As she drew closer to her destination, Goose began to see more and more clone troopers, all of them dead. There must be a lot of streetfighting, a thought that made her nervous. Then, as she turned a corner, she heard the noise that she could recognize anywhere, and dreamed about in her worst nightmares. The moans of a dying man.

Goose picked up her pace and ran over to him. He was an ordinary clone, just like all the others she'd seen, except for the long shard of shrapnel protruding from his side. The crater nearby and the blackened remains of his squad scattered about told his story instantly. The point man had triggered a landmine, most likely planted by Separatist forces as they retreated. Evidently, this man was the lucky one.

He was barely conscious, but his cries of agony were all too clear. Goose pulled off his helmet and tried to give him a hypo of morphine, but he reared up and started thrashing the moment he saw her. She had dealt with these reactions before, from soldiers too hurt, scared, and confused to tell what was happening to them anymore. His eyes were glazed over, and it was obvious he was in a great deal of pain. She doubted he was actually aware of what was going on, and was only acting on some sort of primal instinct. He continued to yell hoarsely and lash out at Goose as she tried to hold him down so he wouldn't twist the shrapnel even deeper into his body.

"Hey, pal, you've gotta calm down," she soothed him as she grappled with his arms. "I'm a doctor, I can help you."

Goose couldn't be sure if he had understood her or had simply used up the last of his waning energy, but he stopped moving long enough for her to give him a sedative and a shot of morphine. Then she set to work on his wound, thankful that it was only the one.

His plastoid armor did not seem to have protected him at all, having shattered on impact, and was a nuisance to get off. Once she'd figured out how to undo the clasps, Goose gently lifted it off, careful not to jar the shrapnel. The black body glove peeled off easily enough, and in a moment she was confronted with a horrid, oozing wound. The blood was already clotted, so he must have been laying here a long while. She was disgusted that nobody had been by to help him, even though he certainly would have been conscious enough to call for help when he was first injured.

However, troops must be stretched incredibly thinly if only a little over two hundred troopers were holding the city. She could be miffed later, because right then he was fading fast and she had to work quickly. Goose pulled on some gloves, even though it wouldn't make much of a difference to the patient. If his injuries didn't kill him, the resulting infection would if he didn't receive antibiotics.

The dried blood held the shard of metal firmly in place, and there was no way to remove it besides cutting it out. Using a vibroscalpel, Goose made an incision all the way around the shrapnel, careful not to make the wound larger than necessary. Now it was only a matter of removing it without killing the patient. This part was always the trickiest, and it was made more difficult by the fact that she didn't have a bioscanner to check if it had punctured any organs.

Fortunately, the metal was not very jagged and she gently pulled it out with little resistance. There was fresh bleeding, as was to be expected, but it was light enough that Goose was reassured his spleen had not been injured. However, it was soon apparent there was a tear in his colon, and fecal matter was seeping out of the wound. The colon, of course, is the most germ-infested organ of the body, and if he didn't receive antibiotics soon he'd go septic.

"This is just fripping fantastic," she groused. "There's nothing like a leaky colon to brighten up your day."

It was easy enough to seal up the hole with a few well-placed glue-stats, but the stench was awful. The smell of feces mixing with blood took her back to her worst on Virgillia. It really wasn't his fault, but the odor was more than a little overpowering at such close proximity. It only encouraged her to work faster, and soon she had closed him up with a bacta patch and given him a strong antibiotic. In any ordinary hospital, or even back on Virgillia, this would have been seen as sloppy. She should have used sutures or at least staples to close up properly, maybe spend a bit more time reconnecting muscle tissue. But she wasn't in a hospital, and she really didn't have the time to do more than a slap-and-dash job.

No matter how rushed it seemed, she had done well on this patient, and his odds of surviving were very high as long as he made it to a proper medical facility within a few hours. Goose would have been happier if she could've given him a blood transfusion, or even some plasma, but she had none. He was stable for now, and that was all she could hope for. However, she would have to keep a close eye on him later. Sepsis could always set in later, during recovery. Goose didn't just perform surgery, she felt responsible for her patients up until the moment they were discharged from the medbay.

Now that he was out of immediate danger, Goose needed to figure out what to do with him. They were still in a relatively exposed position, and she couldn't just leave him there, but at the same time she had to go help other people. Years of helping to carry stretchers and long hours of surgery had made her relatively strong, but an unconscious man in full armor was more than she was sure she could handle. Also, she was afraid his wound may open up again if he was moved.

Fear gives people strength sometimes, and it was fear that motivated Goose to forget her apprehension and start dragging his deadweight once the artillery started up again.

* * *

With all of his armor, the trooper could easily have weighed close to two hundred pounds. Needless to say, Goose was not thrilled to have to drag him more than a block. But she did, because she had to, and after several minutes of exertion she made it to where the other wounded were gathered. She had hoped to find some sort of first aid station there, or at least somebody who knew what was going on, but she was not so lucky.

It was a small courtyard that sat in the shadow of a bombed-out skyscraper, which actually afforded a lot of cover from enemy fire. The situation was probably more dire than she had first thought, because no one had stayed behind to care for the wounded. Goose counted eleven injured men loosely grouped together, and it appeared that whoever had carried them to safety had left in a hurry to get back to the battle because none of them had been given more than rudimentary care. There was not even a clone medic to help them, though she assumed that they all had to be busy doing the actual fighting.

Goose gratefully deposited her unwelcome burden (whose vitals had in fact improved somewhat) in a relatively safe place, then started to triage her new responsibilities. There was a wide range of injuries from blaster burns to blunt force trauma, and most were unconscious. She dragged them into a rough line from the most urgent to the ones that could wait, then started to operate. No more than a block or two distant, the sporadic sound of blasterfire betrayed just how close to her the shooting was. If the enemy managed to push the Republic troops back, which was probable, there would be no way to move all of these wounded, or for her to escape. Instead of thinking of all the unsavory possibilities, Goose decided to focus on her work

And work she did, because there was a lot to do. At first, she was dismayed by what she saw. Just like the first trooper, all of the others had obviously been hurt and waiting for a long time because in all cases their blood had clotted and dried already. Goose was even surprised that some of them were still alive, given all the blood they'd lost. From what she saw, she knew that the Republic was going to have a tough time taking care of their casualties for the rest of the war. There was clearly no infrastructure in place to care for wounded men, because these troopers had been left to die, and they would've died if she hadn't come along. It was absolutely barbaric, and she had to put an end to it.

Years of experience had made this part of her job easier for her, and she soon fell into a working rhythm.

Shrapnel in the chest.

Extract. Stop the bleeding. Repair the lungs. Seal the wounds. Bacta. Synthflesh.

Next.

Blaster bolt to the gut.

Make an incision. Stop the bleeding. Resect the bowel. Seal the wound. Bacta. Synthflesh.

Next.

For the following few hours, that was how her mind functioned, almost droidlike in its efficiency. Goose hardly felt the passage of time. The less she focused on the pain, death, and horror around her, the more bearable it was. All other stimuli were ignored as she worked at a frenzied pace trying to ensure the survival of the troopers whose very lives were now entrusted to her.

Every once in a while, a clone trooper would run in and drop off a wounded comrade, then race back to the battle. She was so busy she never had a chance to speak to any of these men, but it must have spread by word of mouth that there was a surgeon taking care of the wounded because soon she was swamped by the sheer number of casualties.

Goose had to work like a woman possessed to keep up, but somehow she managed. The worst part of all of it was that she ran out of gloves after about the twentieth patient, and was low on just about everything else, too. In the end, she had to resort to using antiseptic alcohol to sterilize her hands and worked with the supplies from her patients' own medpacks. As she operated, enemy artillery volleyed and thundered overhead. More often than not, it would overshoot its target and explode too close for comfort. When this happened, Goose would throw herself over her patient to keep dirt and rubble out of his wounds, and could only pray to gods she didn't believe in that the other patients in the courtyard were not hurt even more.

As the day wore on, she had discarded the button-up shirt of her fatigues, preferring to work in her short-sleeved undershirt. It was only when evening began, around six o'clock, that the constant artillery fire finally ended. Goose could not believe it at first, assuming at first that it was just a lull, but was overjoyed when she realized it was really over. Then she grimly set back to work, because she still had several patients to take care of. It was dangerous to keep working in the dim twilight, but they were dead anyway if she did nothing at all.

The rest of the fighting seemed to have ended as well, because no more casualties arrived after that. In the darkening evening sky, Goose looked up and saw several enormous explosions in space. She could only hope that it was the Separatist blockade being destroyed and help would arrive soon. True to her wish, she saw Republic gunships flying down with reinforcements no more than a half hour later. By then, Goose had done all she could her patients, and was utterly worn out.

When a gunship landed on the street adjacent to her courtyard, Goose was sitting in the middle of all the troopers in her care, keeping an eye on them. They were lined up in neat rows, thirty-seven in total, all ready to be taken to the medbays of the ships in the Republic fleet. She had done her job so well, in fact, that only one trooper had died under her attention. He'd had a piece of shrapnel go right through his helmet and into his brain. One look had told her he wasn't going to make it. He'd survived about an hour, but the damage had been so severe Goose couldn't spare the time to do more than give him an analgesic.

There really was nothing she could have done for him, even if she'd had the most advanced surgical equipment in the galaxy. Still, she felt responsible for it. It was not her fault he died, and she didn't even know who he was, yet she could not help but feel outraged. It was her _job_ , her one purpose in being there, to keep him alive. To keep _all_ of them alive. But he was dead, and there hadn't been anything in the universe besides divine intervention which could have saved his life.

The gunship's doors opened as soon as it touched down, and clone troopers with hover stretchers poured out. Obviously, they'd managed to find out through the grapevine that she'd set up an impromptu aid station there. Goose was pleased to see Jules was among them, and she stood to greet him. Her legs shook with exhaustion, and her mouth was so dry she could hardly form words. She'd barely had anything to drink all day, she belatedly remembered.

"Hi, Jules." she said thickly, "Long time no see."

Jules had in fact seen her that morning, and was shocked at how she looked now. Even in the insufficient light shining out from the gunship into the darkness of the night, he could see what a sorry state she was in. Her hair was disheveled, her face was grimy, and she was covered in dust. Her hands were red all the way up to her wrists, and there were smears of blood on her face and arms. None of it was her own blood, but he didn't know that. To Jules, she looked like the last survivor of a massacre.

"What happened to you?" he asked anxiously, "Are you all right?"

Goose almost laughed at his distress, but didn't because it would've made her sound insane, even though that was how she felt at the moment. It was almost absurd that she was the only one unhurt, yet she was the first person he was worried about. She probably looked a whole lot worse than she felt, and it was nothing a shower, a meal, and a good night's sleep couldn't fix. Her shoulder still ached, but that wasn't very high on her list of immediate worries.

"No, no I'm fine," she mumbled and waved him away when he tried to check her for injuries. "Those guys are a lot worse off than I am."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure."

Jules continued to radiate concern for her, but she was too numb from all the stress of the day to notice it. Her head buzzed with fatigue, and she was unable to fully process the events of the past few hours. While they started to ferry the wounded to the medbay with the gunship, Goose listlessly washed off the blood on her hands as best she could in the broken fountain in the center of the courtyard. Much of it had dried into a rusty red sludge that smelled coppery and was nearly impossible to scrub off.

For now, she moved stiffly, mechanically, staring vacantly as the patients who had become the very reason for her existence for the past eight hours were carried away to safety. The emotional toll would hit her later, but for now she was so deep in shock that she didn't feel much of anything. She picked up her shirt from where she had cast it off hours earlier, but did not bother to put it on. Her undershirt was enough, for all she cared.

Goose went back with the next shipload of wounded. Most of the clones on board watched her apprehensively, as if she might have a nervous breakdown any moment, but it hardly mattered to her now. She looked like she was on the verge of tears, and in fact she really did want to cry, but nothing would come out. It was as if she'd fallen into some sort autopilot, and it was the only thing keeping from falling apart then and there. Never before had anything she'd experienced left her in such inner turmoil, yet there she was.

The trip was a short one because the Resolute had made planetfall on the outskirts of the city. Goose went with the wounded to the medbay, to help out, but the med droids were already in control of the situation. They didn't even need to do any secondary surgeries because she'd repaired the wounds so well already. They went straight to recovery in the post-op wards where they were hooked up to IV drips and life sign monitors. All of them were stable, at least for the time being.

In the end, Goose wouldn't have been of much use at that point anyway, so she went back to her quarters to sleep it off.

Once in her room, she flung herself on her bunk and immediately sank into a deep and exhausted sleep, one she hoped where none of the day's demons could disturb her.

Unfortunately, that would not be the case.


	10. Booze, Please

#10 Booze, Please

* * *

Goose woke up the next morning feeling no more well rested than when she'd fallen asleep, not refreshed in the least. Sleep had not come easily to her that night. She had been restless the whole time, unable to calm herself down. Not only had those men been grievously wounded, many had been left for dead, abandoned to die. It troubled her. Goose had no way of knowing that it was not normally the case, and things had only gotten so bad because they were losing control of the city and there hadn't been any men to spare. Even so, it horrified her even more than their injuries that no one had helped them.

She felt like there was so much more she could have done to help. Maybe she could've found a medic to assist her, so she would have helped more troopers more quickly. Or she could've organized a team of stretcher bearers to find more of the wounded and bring them in sooner. She might have even been able to work faster, if she had tried just a little harder…

In truth, Goose had done an exemplary job. Thirty-seven of the thirty-eight men she'd treated lived, a ninety-seven percent survival rate. Not only that, but she had done remarkably well at keeping her cool, not once panicking or freezing up. As much as the experience had terrified her, it was a great success, and she should have been proud of herself.

For some reason, she was not. Something was wearing away at her mind, but she didn't know what it was. She could feel it, a festering thought worming around at the back of her head, only she couldn't quite name it. Whatever it was, it had kept her up all night tossing and turning in bed, and it still bothered her.

Miserable, she decided the best way to feel better would be to take a shower, which she hadn't done last night. She shuffled blearily into the 'fresher, and was dismayed to see her reflection. A Gamorrean at his mother's funeral probably looked more composed than she did. Her face was still smeared with long-dried blood and dirt, her face drawn, and an expression most akin to a hungover grimace.

She looked like she was falling apart, and felt like it too.

"Come on, Goose. It's just a war, after all." she laughed humorlessly, "You can handle it, can't you?"

At that moment, she wasn't sure if she could even handle the next five minutes, let alone the rest of the war. She felt more drained after yesterday than she had after a forty-six hour deluge of casualties back on Virgillia. In fact, she had seen equally horrific things back on that hellhole of a planet, and it hadn't bothered her nearly as much. One time, there had been a pen of livestock near the first aid station Goose had been working in. Some wayward artillery had struck it, and when the smoke cleared there was nothing left of the animals, not even smoldering chunks of meat. They were just gone. Vaporized. She still shuddered to remember what happened when it hit a group of soldiers.

Even so, the day before would have been a trying experience for even the most hardened veteran, and Goose was definitely feeling the effects. But it frustrated her that it affected her so much, especially because all this emotional baggage was not something she needed at the moment. Why couldn't she just shrug it off and push it to the back of her mind, like she usually could?

Maybe she was slipping, or losing her touch. What if she was losing her touch on reality as well?

Angrily, she stripped her clothes off, kicking them into a corner before stepping into the shower and furiously scrubbing away every last trace of blood, sweat, and grime from the day before. Then she sat down on floor of the shower, letting the hot water cascade over her as she tried to remember what she had done to stay sane back on Virgillia. She _had_ to get back in control, and she _had_ to figure this out.

It seemed to Goose that the only thing that had really changed was that she hadn't seen a drop of booze in days. She was by no means an alcoholic, far from it in fact, but it had always been a comfort to her to be able to share a drink with the other surgeons and just forget the war. Even if it was only temporary, hitting the happy juice had at least kept her from a complete nervous breakdown.

Then again, it could be that she missed the camaraderie she'd had with those doctors. The Virgillian surgeons hadn't been the greatest in the galaxy, in fact they were sub-par, but they'd all shared a sort of gallows humor that had made her unwilling tenure there halfway bearable. She remembered something one of them had said to her on her first day there, after she watched on in horror as they played a lunatic drinking game involving throwing scalpels at each other's feet. _Sometimes you've gotta act crazy to stay sane in a place you don't wanna be._ Wise words.

"I have _got_ to pull myself together," Goose groaned and rubbed her eyes. "I had _one_ rough day, and now I'm wishing for Corellian whiskey. It's pathetic."

She sighed and stood up, then turned off the water. Drinking was not the answer, so she'd have to find another solution. The only way she was ever going to fix her head without booze was to ignore what was bothering her, though she hadn't quite been able to figure out what it was yet. Of course, every psychiatrist in the galaxy would tell her that ignoring her problems would just make them worse, but it didn't really matter to her. No one can completely ignore a war anyway, so she'd have to face reality someday. For now, she decided to pretend everything was normal. As normal as anything could be, in a war.

Goose toweled off and dressed in some clean fatigues, just beginning to feel more like a human rather than the undead. Then she stuffed her sleeping clothes, robe, and a dry towel into her mostly empty medkit, after shaking the dirt off of it. She planned on restocking it later in the medbay, and was pleased to see there was more than enough space left after cramming even more clothes into it. The battle for Christophsis was going to take a while, Goose knew. It was an entire planet, after all. She didn't mind carrying a little extra so long as it meant she'd be more comfortable later on.

The next thing Goose had to do was find something to eat. She actually hadn't had anything yesterday except for that terribly disappointing mug of caf. That incident felt like it happened a week ago, but it was probably still very fresh in the minds of those serving droids. Goose was so hungry she couldn't really feel her stomach anymore. There was nothing that could get in her way that would stop her now, especially a haughty droid.

She hefted the bag over her shoulder and made her way to the mess hall, mentally preparing herself to bully a droid into giving her breakfast.

* * *

Goose was in luck that day, because she'd actually woken up early enough to make it to breakfast on time. The place was nearly deserted, however, with only a few tired-looking troopers who'd probably just gotten off the graveyard shift sitting together in a corner. It was most likely that all but a skeleton crew had been deployed already, so it was not all too surprising. She wondered if she was supposed to be down there too, helping in the only way she could.

She brushed that thought aside when her stomach grumbled insistently as she surveyed the chow. The droids hadn't prepared very much food, probably in anticipation of all the troops disembarking, so the spread was not that impressive. Goose felt free to help herself, and didn't feel bad at all when she took the last of the blessedly hot caf. It wasn't likely anyone else would show up, so it was hers for the taking.

Then Goose chose a seat in the exact center of the room, just for kicks. She'd considered sitting with the clones in the corner, but they looked just as sleep deprived as she did and she didn't want to make them deal with her early morning ornery behavior. So she ate by herself, her plate piled high with lukewarm reconstituted powdered nuna eggs and strips of fried mystery meat. It could have been nerf, but she doubted it.

She was still happy with the resolution she'd made twenty minutes ago, and acting normally was helping a little, but that _thing_ was still bothering her. It kept eluding her, and she didn't like it. However, there was still nothing she could do about it, not yet at least. This wasn't the first time something like this had happened to her, and sooner or later she'd unravel the mess her own mind had made.

The mess hall was actually a very boring place with no one to talk to, so Goose finished up hastily and returned her tray. Then she decided to head to the medbay so she could replenish her medkit and check up on her patients in post-op. She had been more or less in a daze by the time she'd gotten back the night before, so she had no idea how most of them were right then. After a quick jaunt, she was there.

Though Goose didn't like med droids very much, she could not deny that they were efficient workers. When she had left last night, the whole place had been in relative chaos. Now, all the patients were squared away, and all the mess had been nicely cleaned up. She went first to the supply room, to grab the things for her medkit.

On Christophsis, Goose had been very disappointed with the contents of the pre-packed medkit. It had been convenient, but it lacked some of the things she liked to have. She rummaged around for a while until she found what she was looking for: felt-tipped markers. Though they seemed simple enough, they could be lifesavers. Using the markers, she would be able to write directly on the patient his triage number, what medication had already been administered, and what his vital signs were. This way, another doctor or med droid farther on down the line would know exactly what had happened to the patient, his triage number, and whether or not his vitals had taken a nose dive.

Goose grabbed two, then set about finding the other things she needed. She packed a lot more gloves, because it truly had been horrible to have to touch the insides of dying men with her bare hands. A whole package of bacta patches, lots of glue-stats, and a very generous supply of antibiotics made their way into her bag one by one. She did not feel bad that she was looting the supply closet, because she saw it as her medbay anyway. Goose even took a few extra vibroscalpels, because some of the ones from yesterday had started to get low on battery and didn't work as well.

When she was satisfied that her medkit was properly stocked, Goose dumped it near the main door and strode into post-op to do her rounds. There were forty-nine men recovering there, meaning she had personally treated all but twelve of them. These wounded troopers represented nearly twenty percent of the Republic troopers remaining in the city before reinforcements had arrived, and it amazed her that they hadn't lost control of the city after all. She hadn't really seen the clones when they were fighting, but she knew they had to be good if they'd managed to hold off a Separatist takeover with so few men.

Every one of them had been stripped out of their armor and put into hospital gowns, no easy task to be sure. They were all hooked up intravenous lines of blood, plasma, saline, or any combination of the three. Vital sign monitors beeped steadily, and none of the patients were in critical condition. Overall, it was an idyllic situation. They were all in very good health, aside from their obvious injuries, and would recover quickly. They would be out in no time at all, and back to…fighting, Goose supposed.

It sounds cruel, to send a soldier back to war after they have already been wounded, but that is how it's been since the advent of organized warfare. Back on Virgillia, troops had been so scarce that they were called back to the line before their sutures healed. Goose rarely ever saw her patients again after they left, as was the nature of her work. However, she could vividly recall one such reunion. It had taken place only a week later, in a morgue.

Goose knew that the med droids, many of which had deactivated themselves to save power at this point, had probably checked and double checked all the patients by now. However, droids were known to make miscalculations, especially when dealing with living beings. She trusted her own intuition and gut feeling far more than their circuits and algorithms. Goose made her way down the aisle, checking patient charts, vitals monitors, and IV drips as she went. It was eerie, like seeing the same man hurt in every way imaginable. They all slept peacefully, like you expect of exhausted men resting after a brush with death.

Not only was everything in perfect order, and all of them were doing very well. Spectacularly, in fact. She had known some men who bounced back quickly from surgery, but it was astounding that _all_ of them were recovering so nicely. Goose supposed that, being clones, they were all technically the same man, so it could make sense. The unusual thing was, none of them were in critical condition, even though half of them almost died the day before. Most of them would be ready to go back after perhaps a week or two. She began to wonder if the clone template, the original, had been chosen specifically because-

Suddenly, her mind seized upon it, that thing that had been bothering her all morning. Goose almost laughed at its simplicity, at her own stupidity. They were _clones_. They didn't choose to be what they were, they were _engineered_. They had no choice. This wasn't their war, but they had to fight it anyway. The Republic _made_ them, like a product, and used them. And they fought to preserve the very institution which enslaved them.

The realization hit her like a ton of bricks. At the same time, she knew there was nothing she could do except brush it under the rug, ignore it, and just keep plodding along. The entire Republic would have heard about it by now, and it was obvious they didn't care. Certainly, telling them about it wouldn't do them any good, especially if they haven't recognized it themselves. Goose silently berated herself for not noticing this glaring issue back when she'd initially learned they were clones. It should have been the first question she asked, not an unexpected thought three days later. It wasn't really her problem, though. Or was it?

The more she thought about it, the closer she came to suffering an existential crisis. Given time, she probably would have been able to work herself up into one. However, she was jarred out of her reverie by a short chirp in her ear so surprising she jumped a little, followed by a deep voice.

"Doctor Gosling," came the clipped greeting.

Embarrassingly, it took a long moment for Goose to remember she still had her ear comlink in. It wasn't until then that she realized she'd been standing at the end of post-op clutching a datapad for dear life. The voice on the other end could have belonged to any clone, but somehow she knew it had to be Rex.

"Yo," she answered offhandedly.

There was a pause, as if he didn't quite know what to make of her response. Then he went on ahead with it, though he did sound a bit irritated.

"General Skywalker would like to talk to you, doctor. Are you still aboard the Resolute?"

"Yes," Goose replied uneasily.

She'd forgotten all about Skywalker. Given yesterday's minor fiasco, she wasn't entirely sure if the meeting would be conducted on friendly terms. Moreover, Goose really didn't want to go back to the city all that much.

"There is a gunship ferrying supplies to the staging area leaving in a few minutes," said Rex, unperturbed by her hesitance. "Can you make it?"

There really wasn't anything left for her to do here, and she couldn't exactly avoid Skywalker forever. Besides, she was sure there'd be something she could help out with.

"I don't see why not," she puffed out a sigh. "I'll be seein' ya."

The connection ended with a click. Goose groaned a little inside, then trudged to the door and hefted her medkit once more.

"Hold the fort, will you?" she grumbled at a passing med droid on her way out.


	11. Hop on the Wagon

#11 Hop on the Wagon

* * *

Finding the gunship was easier than Goose had thought it would be, and the pilot had been very gracious about letting her ride on some of the ammo crates. However, hurtling through the air while being seated on top of live ammunition is not the most comforting feeling, so she was more than happy to get off. All of this meant that it was very easy for Goose to make her way to the staging area, presumably where Skywalker was waiting for her. She asked for directions from a clone cleaning his blaster, then grudgingly walked over to where he'd said the General would be.

She did not relish having to talk to him again, seeing as how poorly their first encounter had gone. After exchanging only a few words with him, Goose could tell he was reckless and headstrong, though she really wasn't one to judge. He was young, far younger than what one would expect a General to be, and his inexperience showed. She had to be at least three or four years his senior, not that it was saying much. Goose could not claim to know him well, but she considered herself good at reading other people. Skywalker was new at command, had probably only gotten his commission a week or so ago, and he was not yet used to it. He tried to be too assertive, and it rubbed her the wrong way.

The staging area was a bustling, chaotic place where supply crates were unloaded, tanks and artillery dropped off, and troops gathered for deployment. The Republic had just regained its foothold, and it was working hard to unpack and press their offensive. It was also quite noisy, with troopers milling around, some of them helping to move crates. Others lounged about, waiting for their orders. Officers barked commands at their troops, and engineers hustled around checking equipment. Goose was sure all of the activity would die down eventually, and somewhere in that time she would have to see about establishing a first aid station in the city.

Speaking of the city, this part of it was just as destroyed as what she'd seen the day before. It may once have been elegant, but now its buildings were half demolished and only soldiers walked its streets. Rubble crunched underfoot no matter where you stepped, and day-old fires still smoldered. A formerly-beautiful skyline was now pockmarked with bomb craters big and small. It was a world already scarred by war, yet the battle was only beginning.

Up ahead, Goose found Skywalker conversing with that other jedi she'd seen as a hologram in the stealth ship. Kenobi, she believed his name was. They seemed to be arguing, but that was not surprising to her given that she'd already seen Skywalker disobey Kenobi's direct order. Everyone from a core world knows that jedi take apprentices, and Skywalker had called him his 'master' yesterday, which made her assume that he had been his padawan up until recently. It did not exactly inspire confidence in her that he was still so attached to his old master.

Goose did not go close enough to eavesdrop, but it appeared Kenobi had won the dispute. It had probably been about strategy or some such nonsense she didn't care to listen in on anyway. She was sure she hadn't made any noise where she was standing, certainly nothing that could be heard above the din all around them, but he turned to face her as if he'd known she was there all along.

"Oh, you're here," he began stiffly, as if he was only being polite because of obligation. "I'd like to start off by apologizing for my hostility yesterday. It was very unprofessional of me."

Goose stared for a moment, immediately put off balance by his new attitude. She'd expected him to launch into the I-should-have-you-court-martialed speech, but here he was making an apology. That set off all sorts of red flags in her head. He was being too nice. She wasn't sure why she was so suspicious of him. Maybe it was because she didn't see what he was playing at.

"Uhh...yeah, I'm sorry about that too. I'm not exactly a huge fan of dying in the vacuum of space," Goose said guardedly. "Death by torpedo isn't my idea of a perfect afternoon, either."

She didn't trust officers that much, a bit ironic since she technically was one herself. Over the years, she'd found them to be just a manipulative as any black marketer. Besides, she didn't mean her apology anyway.

"Right," Skywalker said distractedly, like he had much more important things to think about. "Originally, I planned to recruit a surgeon with combat experience to help lower mortality rates. I made a mistake bringing in a civilian, so I've already put through your transfer to Kaliida Shoals."

Goose narrowed her eyes, just a little. So that's what it was all about. She was being dismissed. He was getting rid of her, not that she would mind the transfer. In fact, her heart rate shot up the moment he mentioned it. Goose would be free at last, able to relax in the relative safety of rear-area MedCenter. She'd been wishing for someone to say that to her since the moment she took her first, muddy step on Virgillia.

At the same time, it rankled her that he'd so flippantly decided she was incompetent at the job she did best, without first seeing her handiwork. He was treating her like some coddled core-worlder who wouldn't know a scalpel from a bayonet. Frankly, it was an insult to her skill as a surgeon and her experience in the field. But did she _really_ want to stay? Not at all. Would she regret leaving? She didn't know.

Goose couldn't help but remember the day before. All of those men, laying there wounded with no one to take care of them. At least she'd been there, but what if she left now? She doubted any other doctor would accept the job, and there was no way the handful of medics she'd seen so far could handle the casualties she knew they would have. Goose was anything but inexperienced, and she knew she'd be able to manage far better than any replacement Skywalker would find. It would almost be unethical to leave.

It would have been so easy for Goose to just stand there, keep her mouth shut, and wait for a transport to take her to Kaliida Shoals, wherever that was. Skywalker was already turning away, as if her lack of response had settled the matter.

"Wait," she called after him, hardly sure she knew what she was doing. "I want to stay."

Goose didn't know where that had come from. It had just popped out, like a hiccup or a sneeze. Skywalker looked just as surprised as she felt. Her mind was reeling, trying to understand why she'd said that.

"What?" he asked, dumbfounded.

She smiled a little inside at his shock, but it didn't show outwardly because she was still scrambling to figure out why she'd just turned down her salvation.

"You won't find a more qualified surgeon willing to take the job, I guarantee it." Goose blurted, stumbled over her own words, trying to form a coherent reason, "The troops will need as much medical support as they can once the fighting heats up."

He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes as he studied her face, like he was sizing her up again.

"Are you sure?" Skywalker asked slowly, "I don't want to be responsible if you're killed."

Goose, momentarily forgetting her inner struggle, nearly laughed. If she died in this war, it wouldn't be because of her own stupidity. If a kid could be street-smart, then she was war-wise. It was never a sure thing, but she knew how to watch her back, was at far less risk than any of the troopers.

"I can take care of myself, thanks," she snorted. _And I already have much more experience with war than you do, anyway,_ she silently added to herself.

"Are there any other reasons?" he added somewhat suspiciously, still unconvinced.

 _Was_ there another reason? When she thought about it, Goose realized there was. So secretly that even she didn't always know it, she loved this. She was by no means egotistical or a narcissist, but saving lives made her feel _good_ , and the danger was exciting. If you asked her why she became a surgeon, Goose would tell you it was deep respect for sentient life, just like any other pious medical professional. But if you got right down to it, she was more of an addict. She might have even developed withdrawal symptoms if she stopped operating for long enough.

"Every surgeon is a thrill seeker, it's almost part of the job description. I won't deny that I find this work much more exciting, because it's a challenge." Goose explained tentatively, "In the rear-area it's all cookbook medicine and bacta tanks. I'm not trying to sound callous, but I'd be bored to my wit's end after a month or so."

Skywalker pursed his lips and considered her some more. Internally, Goose was pleading for him to refuse and take it out of her hands.

"I'll give you one more chance to back out," he finally said. "If I pull your transfer now, it'll be months before you can get another. Do you really want to stay?"

She took a deep breath and almost had to grit her teeth to get the word out. From here on out, for every miserable thing that happened to her, the fault was hers and hers alone.

"Yes."

Mentally, Goose was already kicking herself for being a sentimental idiot. What had she just done? On the other hand, Skywalker looked happy for the first time since she'd met him.

"Alright," his face broke into a grin, and he started tapping away at his datapad. "Then welcome to the five-oh-first! I've assigned you to Captain Rex in Torrent Company."

It was odd, as if she'd passed some sort of test, and he suddenly liked her now that she'd proved she had 'guts.' She was more than willing to just leave and wallow in self-pity for a while, but she had to have one thing settled first.

"Just to be clear, is Rex my superior now?" Goose added, "We _are_ technically the same rank."

She hoped that he said yes, because she didn't want any more responsibilities, real or imagined. Only a few times in her unintentional military career had she been forced to order someone to do something rather than ask it, and she would like to keep it that way.

"You and Rex can come to an agreement on that," he said dismissively, then handed her his datapad. "Here are his coordinates. Go report to him and he'll get everything sorted out. And doctor, I don't want to see any more insubordination. You're under my command, now."

Goose fought the urge to smile, choosing to merely turn and walk away before she let out a snarky comment. She silently vowed to stop questioning Skywalker the day he started obeying orders. Probably never, then.

* * *

It turned out that Torrent Company was already at a forward position, so Goose would have to walk about a klick from the staging area to find them. She'd talked to a sentry before leaving, and he'd said from there to the front had been secured, so it was safe to go alone on foot. She would have preferred to bum a ride off someone, but there weren't going to be any more transports out there for hours, so she decided to rough it.

Like all the other streets she'd walked down, these were strewn with debris and broken things. Having seen it all before, her mind was numbed and she carried on in silence. Again, she was eerily alone as she navigated the ruined city. There was no artillery now, but that could change in an instant. Dust hung in the air, from all the shattered masonry, clinging to her clothes and covering them in a fine layer of powder. Goose stepped along as quietly as she could, mindful of the shadows.

There were many dead troopers, and even a few civilians. The ones too stubborn to evacuate, she assumed. Goose wondered why the Republic hadn't come by to pick up their dead yet. They made the city seem like it was in the grip of death. Most military traditions she'd heard of honored the dead, so she was confused as to why they littered the ground like yesterday's trash. Of course, deep down, she knew exactly why they were still here. No one cared enough to clean up the mess. The Republic, in all of its hypocrisy, would probably leave it behind for the Christophsians to contend with once they won. _If_ they won. There was still the distinct possibility she'd end up just like them, just as expendable.

She trudged along, continuing to bemoan her idiocy. Was she really so arrogant that she thought it was her moral duty to stick around and save some clones? No, not just clones. _Lives_. Becoming a surgeon had always been about the lives, not so she could pat herself on the back for being a martyr. She'd just given up the best opportunity of her life not to feel good about herself, but so that she could live with herself. What kind of doctor would she be if she abandoned her patients just to save her own skin?

As she continued to brood, the city around her started to change. Goose had just left a residential area, which had been overshadowed by soaring apartment complexes. The sky had widened up, though it was overcast and smoke-filled. The streets were now lined with shops and small businesses, though they were all boarded up and many had their windows smashed in. She felt too exposed, walking out in the open, so she stepped off the street and onto the sidewalk.

Goose avoided all the glass shards as best she could, until she tripped on a crack in the duracrete pavement and nearly sliced her face on a broken…bottle. She cursed eloquently, if it was even possible to do such a thing. The would-be face-scarring bottle was, in fact, a beer bottle, laying among many others in front of a liquor store. Like most on the street, the store's window had shattered inward, giving her a nice view of its wares despite the darkened interior. The bottles on display had fallen randomly, some inside and some out. She was in disbelief. Had not she been missing booze only earlier that morning?

"Well I'll be broggled," Goose swore under her breath. "The gods really must be crinking crazy."

It was too convenient, the temptation too obvious. If one had any spiritual beliefs, one may think whatever deity they worshipped had decided they needed their faith to be tested. However, Goose didn't subscribe to any of the hundreds of religions offered throughout the galaxy. She only referred to them on the occasions when she couldn't find any better explanation. Her common sense screamed that it was too good to be true, and she was instantly wary. Still, Goose was not one pass up an opportunity like this.

She stepped gingerly through the gaping hole left by the broken window, careful of all the glass. Bypassing the cheap stuff, Goose ducked behind the counter where she knew the owner would have kept his secret stash. There were a few empty places where the most valuable bottles would have been, and it was likely that the proprietor had taken them when they evacuated. That wasn't an issue at all, because she found exactly what she'd been looking for. Corellian whiskey.

While she hadn't been born there, Goose had gone to Corellia Med to earn her M.D. and was quite familiar with the local firewater. In fact, she'd grown so partial to it she'd even spend some of her tiny stipend as a resident at Galactic Polysapient on Alderaan to buy some for special occasions. And now, here was a nicely aged bottle of it, ready for drinking. She picked out a bottle, turned it over in her hands, and thought about it.

Honestly, what could she do with it? Take a seat in a bombed-out liquor store and drink herself senseless? Only the most pathetic drunk would do that. She couldn't take it with her, because Rex certainly wouldn't like it. She didn't want him to think any less of her, anyway. Why was she even here, on some planet she'd almost never heard of, staring at a bottle of whiskey? It was absurd.

For a while she considered hurling the kriffing thing at the wall, breaking it so she could just move on. But why waste perfectly good whiskey? Goose thought of a better idea, one that would ease her conscience while still letting her keep some. She picked a small, empty flask from a shelf and filled it up with the whiskey. She vowed to herself never to drink it unless absolutely necessary, like if she thought she was about to die. Maybe even save it until the end of the war and drink it as a victory toast. To make sure the point was clear to her future self, even in a moment of weakness, she wrote **For Emergencies Only** on it with one of the felt-tipped markers.

Satisfied, she slipped it into her back pocket, where it was slim enough not to be noticeable. Then she chucked the bottle at the wall, watching in relief as it shattered. With that taken care of, Goose walked out of there at brisk pace without a backward glance, glad to be leaving. She smiled lightly to herself, pleased with the knowledge that if there was a god out there, they were probably having a hard time determining if she'd done the right thing or not. At least in her mind, she'd walked the middle road.

As she walked on, Goose briefly considered why the store had not been looted already, which would have been the expected outcome once it was abandoned. In retrospect, none of the shops she'd seen showed signs of looting. It made sense that the clones wouldn't do it, given that they were so well disciplined. But what about the enemy, the ones that invaded the planet in the first place? Goose suddenly realized she hadn't even seen one yet. She actually had no idea what they looked like, besides the arachnoid Admiral Trench. Goose had just assumed they'd be humanoid, or at least something along those lines/

Not long later, she knew she was getting close to the front when she saw the site of a recent skirmish, one Rex had probably participated in not long ago. All the survivors had been taken with the advancing troops, so there was no work for her to do. She did, however, see the enemy for the first time.

It was a battle droid, its almost skeletal body and angular face made of a tan metal alloy. That explained why there hadn't been any looting. Battle droids were programmed to kill, not steal. Pieces of them were scattered all about, the one she was looking at the most intact, with only a gaping hole in its 'chest.' Goose realized she'd seen a few earlier, but they been so warped by blasterfire or some other means of destruction that they'd been rendered unidentifiable. She recognized them now, vaguely, from seeing them in the HNE coverage of the aftermath of the blockade of Naboo. The Trade Federation was involved?

Goose stopped dead in her tracks when it dawned on her that she still had no idea who was at war with whom. Back on Virgillia, Oli had mentioned that the Republic was at war with the Confederacy of Independent Systems, implying that several had seceded. But which planets? It was unlikely, but what if her own homeworld was among them? That would certainly cause a few headaches. Now she wasn't even sure if she was on the right side, though she was still confident that only the disgruntled outer-rim worlds had seceded. However, there was always room for doubt.

"Would it be too much to ask to have just one catastrophe at time?" Goose groaned aloud to herself as she trudged along.

She decided not to worry about it, since everything would be made clear once she met up with Rex and Torrent Company. She was getting close, as revealed by the sporadic blasterfire she could hear up ahead. The fighting didn't sound heavy, but she still approached with caution. By the time she could see them, they'd already finished mopping up the last of the droids, likely having stumbled across them by accident. There did not appear to be any serious injuries among them, so Goose felt free to walk right up to Rex, who she recognized by the blue stripes of his armor.

"Hiya, Rex," she said with a grin. "Looks like you're stuck with me now."

* * *

A/N: Thank you for your patience with the slow updates. I'm taking a heavy course load this year, so I'll probably be posting sporadically. Please bear with me.


	12. Jules

#12 Jules

* * *

"Get me a little more retraction on that bleeder, will you, Jules?…Jules!"

Jules snapped back to reality, having drifted away on a train of thought and loosened his grip on the retractor. He pulled back on the shiny, durasteel instrument, giving Goose a better view of a ruptured vein, all the while reprimanding himself for his inattention. Jules tried to mumble out an apology, but was embarrassed by how tired it made him sound. Across the operating table, which was really only a stationary gurney, Goose continued to work as if he wasn't there. She could probably manage on her own, he guessed.

They were nearing the end of their eighteenth straight hour of surgery, and Jules was so worn out he was worried his mind was slipping. Somehow, Goose looked no worse for the wear, even though she'd already been up an hour before she called for his help. It was amazing to watch her operate, because she never slowed her pace, never made mistakes, and didn't look the least bit fatigued. The long hours of standing and the endless stream of wounded seemed to roll off of her like water off an Aqualish's back. Of course, Jules had never met an Aqualish before, so he wouldn't even know.

Right now, they were working in the cramped, undersupplied medbay of the temporary Republic forward command base. The base had been slapped together in about a day out of prefabricated sections offloaded from the Resolute. Therefore, all the surgical equipment they had were compact, portable versions of the originals, making them balky and unreliable. However, Goose took it all in stride, not the least bit fazed by the terrible conditions. In his eyes, she was an angel of life, able to save men's lives with the most graceful sweeps of her scalpel.

Of course, none of what they were doing could ever be considered graceful. It was gory, down-and-dirty work. But, to his naïve and often sleep-deprived mind, Goose was flawless.

She was more of an enigma to him than anything else, seeming to constantly contradict herself. It had been a little over a week since Goose was made an official member of Torrent Company. Captain Rex had come to the agreement with her that she could take command of a clone medic in the case of a medical emergency, and less than a day later the emergency came. The Separatists were on the offensive again, pushing back with their droid armies. She'd tapped him to help her with the casualties, and had been almost constantly by her side ever since. He'd been eager at first, but not he wasn't so sure.

It was all a very strange experience for Jules, since he'd never had so much contact with a non-clone before, especially a female one. Not that he'd really had any real conversations with her yet, both of them being too exhausted for words by the time they were done. Still, he had noticed inconsistencies in her behavior. In the OR she was focused and serious, seldom cracking a joke. Once outside, she was as sarcastic as could be, whenever she chose to speak to him. In the same way, it seemed odd to him that her own dress and appearance were so sloppy when compared to how meticulously she operated in, and organized, the medbay.

Goose was also a mystery to him in that she always seemed to have energy long after he'd run out. She was on call every time of the day or night, and she was constantly being woken up at odd hours, getting only brief snatches of sleep in between. Yet she was still able to function, working like a surgical juggernaut all day if she had to, until the last wounded man was in post-op. Up until only a few days ago, Jules had thought her to be completely invincible. However, the exertion was finally starting to catch up to her. She'd started to shift from foot to foot, since they ached from standing so long, and she kept having to stretch her arms out. Her eyes, which used to be clear and ambitious, now only reflected her weariness and despair every time a new patient was brought to the table.

Yet her efficiency as a surgeon had not deteriorated. She was brilliant, able to pull a trooper from the very brink of death with practiced ease. Only half a dozen men had died under her scalpel, a regrettable but tiny fraction compared to the hundred troopers, his brothers, she did save. Jules had always been taught that civilians weren't trustworthy, that they couldn't handle the stress of the front line, and they'd let you down I you relied on them. Goose seemed to be living proof to the contrary. If she had any faults, he hadn't found them yet.

In other words, she was his total opposite, or so he thought. Being a medic, Jules had been given basic training in medicine above what normal troopers received, and until then he'd believed himself very good at it. Now, in comparison to Goose, he felt that he was just a bumbling idiot. On the first day when she'd called on him in to assist her, he was sure she'd thought he was completely useless because he hadn't known half of the instruments or what they were used for. He'd improved since then, but he still made mistakes, much to his chagrin.

Not to say that he was in bad physical shape, in fact he was very fit, but Jules wasn't always able to keep up with her. To him, battles consisted mostly of taking cover, shooting back, and maybe sprinting around a bit. It was all familiar, so most of the exhaustion was emotional. Each marathon session of surgery left him remarkably drained, so much so that he occasionally forgot to bathe. He wondered what Goose thought of him, if she was offended by his ineptitude.

Jules didn't believe she needed him at all. He imagined that she only kept him around because the med droids hadn't arrived due to some clerical mix-up. It had been days since he'd even talked to any of his brothers, much less his squad. For the first time in his life, he was separated from other clones, and it made him anxious. On top of that, he felt too exposed without his armor. He'd started wearing the same blue surgical scrubs as Goose for the sake of convenience, since the plastoid plates were too cumbersome for such precise work, yet it made him uncomfortable. It set him apart from the others, and he didn't like it. He was _different_.

He wanted to back out there, in the field, fighting alongside his squad again. Most of the patients they received had been stabilized on the battlefield by his fellow medics, and he wished to be with them rather than making a fool of himself all the time in front of this civilian. However, at the same time, he could not deny that he was excited by this opportunity. Ever since he'd started training as a medic, Jules had been curious about what it was like to really be a doctor. Now, when he finally had the chance, he had mixed feelings about it all.

At the moment, it didn't really matter. Goose was his superior, and he was helping her save the lives of his brothers. For Jules, that was all he needed. He was following orders, something he would likely to until the day he died.

'Sponge."

"Sponge," Jules echoed, as was proper protocol.

He picked one up off the instrument tray and used it to dab away the blood that was obscuring her view, then tossed it into the waste bin with all the other used ones. That was how most of his days had been going, lately. Goose was so utterly absorbed with hunting down pieces of shrapnel and fixing injured organs that she only seemed to notice he still existed in the short times between patients. Of course, such determination was probably a very good quality in a surgeon, no matter how monotonous things got.

Before long, she'd done another fine job and was ready to move on. She did everything with such effortless grace that you'd never tell she was having trouble unless the patient flat out died. Her face was often unreadable, but that was due largely to her ubiquitous white sterile mask. Then again, she probably wasn't be able to tell much from his face, either.

"All right," Goose sighed. "Close him up and give him his bill."

As had become custom over the past week, Jules would do the relatively easy job of closing the patient with a few quick sutures while she went and prepped the next patient. They were several hands short of a working unit, so their improvised system worked out well enough. What caught his attention was that she'd made joke, something she usually didn't do during surgery. Moreover, she sounded exhausted, more so than he'd ever noticed before.

Jules decided to keep it to himself started on the sutures, trying to make it as neat as possible so as not to leave a scar. At first it had been nerve wracking to make everything look nice, but it almost didn't bother him anymore. Like Goose had told him once, during their second session, this was meatball surgery. It wasn't meant to be pretty, so as long as it healed up okay you've done your job. While he worked, Goose went to the small antechamber that served as pre-op. Much to his surprise, she walked out a moment later with obvious relief all over her face, even through the mask.

"I guess I must have forgotten," she said as she stretched her arms a bit. "He was the last of it."

He smiled weakly under his mask, too tired for words. That was it, for the time being. Now he could go rest, take a shower even…Jules fantasized a bit about sleep, his fingers slowing down as once again his attention wandered away from him.

"Spoke too soon." Goose groaned, not a full minute later.

He jerked his gaze up from his sutures, and was dismayed to see two new stretchers being rushed in. Carrying one end of the first stretcher, he recognized Coric, the first time in days he'd even seen him. Even from a distance, Jules could see that both of the troopers were in bad condition. Goose, obviously quite experienced in triage, wasted no more than a moment to look them over before springing into action.

"Bring them both in, now," she ordered. "We don't have any time to waste."

While the first patient was hurriedly set on the first operating table, Goose quickly set up a second gurney that had been folded against the far wall. Wordlessly, she started to prep the first patient as the second one was laid down. Jules started to suture faster, knowing that she would need some assistance soon. The stretcher bearers were already out the door, running back to whatever disaster they'd just came from. Only Coric lingered for a moment, seemingly a little guilty for dumping such a burden on them.

"What?" Goose demanded tiredly, as she started the first trooper on an IV of whole blood.

"I hate to leave you like this, but there's more where it came from, and-"

"Go, we can manage," she cut him off tersely, scarcely glancing up.

Coric nodded and ran out, leaving just the two of them and their patients.

"Jules, how much longer?" Goose asked shortly.

"Almost there," he answered, frustrated that he was not already done.

"Make it snappy, then scrub up," she said as she did so herself, giving her hands a quick rinse in a basin of antiseptic alcohol. "These guys can't wait."

Jules finished closing with a few sloppy stitches, then yanked off his gloves and scrubbed before reaching for a sterile pair. It was messy, and he'd probably end up having to fix the stitches later, but it would hold for the time being. He pulled on the gloves and stepped around to where Goose was already operating. Up close, their wounds were even worse than what he'd seen farther away. The first trooper's chest was riddled with shrapnel, his own warped armor impaling him in some places. A few feet away, the second trooper was conscious and starting to moan in pain.

"Go put him under," Goose said breathlessly as she desperately tried to stop the bleeding.

"But don't you need help with-" Jules started to protest.

"I can handle this here on my own," she said impatiently, not even looking up, her hands moving too fast for him to see exactly what she was doing. "And he needs you, _now_. Hurry up, Jules."

Her harsh tone stung him a little, but he brushed it aside as he sedated the second patient. Then he hooked him up to a vitals monitor, and was alarmed to see that his blood pressure was dangerously low. This was bad. He'd be dead in a matter of minutes if Goose didn't get to him soon.

"Goose, he's fading fast." Jules reported uneasily, "He isn't going to last long."

"Neither is mine," Goose grunted back. "You'll have to get started without me."

He stared down at the wounded trooper in disbelief. How could she expect him to start operating? The procedure would be much too complicated, and he didn't even know where to begin. Jules was sure that he was looking at several severe lacerations of the small intestine, and he hadn't a clue how to resect a bowel.

"I can't," he said frantically. "I'm no surgeon, I'd just mess up."

Jules could feel his mouth go dry, and his tongue almost got stuck on the last vowel. For the first time all day, his skin started to go clammy and he started to tremble, almost shiver, in a way he couldn't control. His heart was beating so fast it hurt, and he kept forgetting to breathe. Jules had felt this fear before, but it had always been on the battle field, in the privacy of his helmet. And he had gotten over it. He grit his teeth, dreading her answer, hoping she'd tell him to just leave. But, of course, she didn't.

"Come on, why should I have all the fun?" she tried to quip, even as her eyebrows furrowed in concentration. "You've seen me do it dozens of times. Just get started, and I'll help you as soon as I can."

In his own panic, Jules could not see how that would possibly work. It was nuts. Couldn't she see there was no way he could do it? All he could think of right then was that it was his fault this trooper was going to die. Either through his inaction or his botched attempt to save him, it would all be on him. And he didn't even know this trooper's name.

"I've never cut a man open before!" Jules balked. "There's still enough time, you can-"

"Shut up, Jules," Goose snapped, glaring at him from across the room. "I can't leave my patient. Right now, that man's life is in your hands. I can talk you through this, but only if you calm down."

Shell shocked, Jules just stared across the small room at her, and was startled by what he saw. She was shaking. Whether from fear, fatigue, or something else, he couldn't tell. But at that moment, his perfect image of her shattered. Goose was tired, just as worn down and exhausted as he was, and this was the first time he'd really seen it. He'd noticed it before, but not truly registered it. How there were always dark circles under her eyes, and she flinched whenever the enemy artillery started up again. Goose was scared, just as much as he was.

Jules looked down at the injured clone again. One of his brothers. How had he almost given up on him?

"Okay," he nodded slowly, drawing a shuddery breath. "Okay. Where do I start?"

* * *

Well over an hour later, Jules finally wheeled the last patient into post-op. It had almost been surreal, how Goose had tersely instructed him on what to do while she struggled to save her own patient. However, her curt tone had belied her anxiety. Even as his own hand had shaken as he pulled shrapnel for the first time, she'd fumbled with an instrument and nearly dropped it. Sweat beaded her brow, and she'd muttered curses in between instructions.

Somehow, either through blind luck or actual talent, both of those patients had survived. Jules still wasn't sure how he'd done it, but knew it was all because of Goose. Had it been left to him, they both would've died. After that, of course, more wounded troopers had been brought in. It appeared that they'd all been hit by the same explosion, most likely a mine. The two of them had worked from then on in stoic silence while Jules once again assisted her.

And, at last, it was over. With the fall of night, the war machines of both sides would grind to a halt, and everyone would gain a few hours respite. The generals on both sides seemed to prefer to launch their attacks in the daylight, which was a boon to the clones, who couldn't see as well in the dark. Naturally, the fighting never completely stopped, and clones on patrol would run into their droid counterparts, leading to middle of the night emergencies for Goose to contend with.

But, for the time being, Jules was just relieved that he'd made it through another day. Though he really just wanted to leave and never come back, he decided to stick around and clean up the medbay, which had gotten trashed over the course of the day. While he picked up the mess, Goose went around and checked on the day's wounded, all thirty-two of them. It wasn't the most they'd ever treated, but it wasn't the least, either. Most of them would recover well in a few days or so, but with others there was less certainty. Later, in the darkest time of night, a gunship or two would sneak down to ferry the most critical cases to the Resolute.

It was always dangerous to fly so near the enemy airspace, so transport ships rarely flew near the front during the day. Jules figured that Goose would wake up when those ships came, to determine which ones had the greatest priority in getting to a real medbay. He couldn't know for sure, since he'd never been awake for it before. Whenever she called him to the OR, usually very early in the morning but hardly ever at night, there were always less patients in post-op than before. Jules was a little embarrassed that she let him sleep longer, but grateful as well. He'd thought all the training on Kamino had been enough to prepare him for war, and perhaps it had, but it'd done nothing to get him ready for over a week of nearly uninterrupted surgery.

Goose was shuffling out the door just as Jules finished tidying up, so he followed her on out, pausing only to flick off the lights. As he walked out into the corridor, he was surprised to see Goose leaning against the wall, looking utterly exhausted. As he stood there in stunned silence, Jules watched as she let her back slide down the wall, and with a sigh sat down on her butt. Then she stretched her legs out and gave another tired sigh.

Jules felt nervous. Even though he'd realized she wasn't the unstoppable titan he'd thought her to be, he'd still never seen her like this. Just moments after stepping out of the medbay, Goose had crumpled like a rag doll. He wasn't so sure how he was still standing himself, but it probably had to do with the fact that she'd been up before him. He stood there for an uncomfortably long while, not sure if he ought to say something or just leave her alone.

He had just decided to go, since she'd appeared to have fallen asleep sitting there, when she slowly forced her eyes open again.

"Hey, Jules," she slurred just a bit, due to exhaustion. "I just wanted you to know you did a real bang-up job in there."

At first, he'd just stared at her in confusion. Jules had heard that idiom before, and knew that it meant he'd done a good job. But he didn't see how she could possibly be serious given all of the day's failings, especially when he'd frozen up. He was so staggered and his mind to foggy that he forgot to answer, and she correctly assumed he didn't believe her.

"Really, I mean it." Goose looked at him earnestly, "I know you've had a hard time keeping up, and I haven't exactly been having a ball either. I hope you understand I would've burned out days ago, if not for your help."

Still dumbfounded, it took Jules awhile to form a coherent thought. She didn't thing he was useless after all?

"Really?" he finally asked, the first thing he could think of.

Goose laughed softly and smiled weakly at him.

"You bet," was the simple reply.

He decided to sit down next to her, and was surprised by how much of a relief it was to finally be off his feet. For a while, they sat there in companionable silence, and both of them started to doze off. They drifted back to wakefulness, however, when the smells of dinner drifted over to them. Goose struggled to her feet first, weaving just the slightest bit as she did so.

"Shall we?" she sighed, gesturing vaguely toward the base's mess hall.

Jules nodded slowly, then heaved himself off the floor. Then the two of them, walking in some sleep-deprived stupor, wordlessly shuffled down the corridor together. How they would be able to keep this up much longer, neither of them had any idea.


	13. Sleepless on Christophsis

#13 Sleepless on Christophsis

* * *

Goose strolled down the deserted corridor, a towel tossed over her shoulder, whistling an upbeat tune. This was her favorite time of day. Sure, it was the middle of the night, and of course she was tired. The day's surgery had been long, adding up to nearly twenty hours. It was over for the moment, and that knowledge alone was comfort enough for her. She couldn't say that she was happy, but at least she was relieved, which was the next best thing at the moment.

Right then, Goose was on her way to the showers. She was thankful she'd had the presence of mind to pack as well as she had, since she hadn't had an opportunity to return to her quarters on the Resolute after leaving it. It was hardly glamorous, walking all the way to the other side of the base just to use the showers, dressed only in her robe. And it wasn't exactly her first choice to have to sneakily creep into the showers while everyone else slept, but there was nothing to be done about it. The simple fact was that she was living on an army base, and should she ever want to take a shower, she'd have to wait until all of the sweaty, naked soldiers had already taken their turn.

Surgery kept her busy nearly all day, so late at night was the only available time to her. This didn't bother her, because she much preferred the peace of an empty hallway to the chaos that had become her recent existence. Goose was in an especially good mood that evening, given her circumstances, because a gunship had just carried away most of the day's wounded. If she was lucky, she could anticipate six or seven more hours before the next casualties rolled in. Rather than collapse onto a bed, which had been her first instinct, Goose decided to treat herself to a shower instead.

Hygiene had been a bit of a challenge for her lately, since her sleeping pattern had been reduced to four or five often interrupted hours a day, and she'd acquired a propensity to falling asleep as soon as she stopped moving. It was also a bother that the only showers on base she was aware of were in the clone barracks, a long trek for one with little rest. Another issue was the clones themselves, though they'd learned to be careful if they ever felt the need to shower at night, due to a few rather cringe worthy accidents.

So that was why Goose was shuffling down that corridor, her whistling off-key but still good enough to her ears. The lights in the hallways, which were long fluorescent tubes, had not even been dimmed, giving the whole corridor a garish brightness for so late at night. That hardly registered in her brain, as her conscious mind had long since fallen asleep, so it was only instinct and some dull sense of purpose that kept her plodding along. Somewhere in the back of her mind she cursed the fact that she'd been assigned quarters without an attached 'fresher, especially one so far away from the actual facilities, but mostly she just squinted groggily at the light and stubbornly kept whistling.

She'd entered the barracks by then, and had she been more awake, Goose might have whistled a little softer so as not to wake the sleeping troopers. However, being more asleep than anything else, she did not. It probably wouldn't matter that much anyway, since most of the 501st was off base. No one ever bothered to tell her the details, but judging by the amount of orange-striped armor at dinner that night, the 212th was the only battalion on base. Goose hadn't seen much of Rex in close to two weeks, ever since she joined his company. That was all right with her, since he hadn't seemed too enthusiastic about her in the first place.

Goose walked on, only one left turn away from the showers. She heard some receding footsteps, going away from her, though it didn't fully register in her mind that it was odd someone else was awake at this hour. For some reason, her thoughts had drifted to the jedi. Did they have their own private showers, or did they sneak into the barracks like she did? It would make sense that a prefabricated base would only have limited plumbing. What if the jedi didn't shower at all? They always looked so calm, composed and immaculately clean, it frequently annoyed Goose when she noticed how greasy her hair had gotten in comparison to theirs.

With a slight huff, Goose turned into the left corridor, the entrance to the showers just ahead. Why should she worry about jedi bathing habits? She was about to take her first shower in nearly three days, and then she was going to go to sleep. That was about as good as things got around here, and she was looking forward to it. She yawned as she thumbed the door sensor, and it slid open with a hiss.

She yawned some more as she walked into the giant barracks 'fresher. Like most military designs, it was utilitarian and not much to look at. A row of compact chemical toilets lined one wall, all without stalls, unfortunately. Opposite those were a row of sinks, with all the pipes exposed, and small mirrors above them. The whole base had only been in use for two weeks, having been no more than prefabricated parts off an assembly line prior to that. And yet, everything was getting gross. All the fixtures were smudged and grimy from being used by hundreds of men every day, and the floor was unpleasantly slimy. The showers were at the end of the long rectangular room, past a plastoid partition. She wearily skirted around puddles of mysterious fluid and the odd glob of soap, at the same time purposely ignoring the unsanitary mess, as she made her way to the showers.

Goose froze. She'd decided to forego her boots, since she hadn't wanted to get them wet. And she'd just stepped in something…warm. Subconsciously, her mind had jumped to the most immediate conclusion, but she whipped her eyes down to the floor anyway.

Blood. Her left foot was in a puddle of blood.

Her mind jolted back to alertness, and she jerked her foot out of it. She had absolutely no idea what was going on, but with a feeling of mounting dread she hadd a good guess. Icy talons of adrenaline clawed at her racing heart as she edged around the partition. In her somewhat numbed state of mind, time slowed with all the suspense of a melodramatic horror holovid. In reality, hardly three seconds had passed when at last she forced her shaky legs to take her for a look, trailing bloody footsteps behind. Mentally, she prayed that it was nothing, just a nosebleed no one bothered to clean up, something harmless like that. But from the other little flecks and spatters of blood, which she'd not noticed earlier, she knew otherwise.

She peered around the corner cautiously, and swallowed hard at what she saw. Laid out on the cold duraplast floor, naked as the day he was decanted, was a clone. The harsh fluorescent lights shone grotesquely on his still-bleeding wound, so similar to the OR lamps that she almost wanted to smash them out. The last two weeks, and in fact the last three years, had made her too desensitized to have a normal reaction and be surprised. Goose couldn't even begin to fathom why this man was lying in a pool of his own blood in the supposed safety of his own base, let alone what had caused it. She wasn't sure if he was alive or dead.

For an interminable moment, she entertained the insane thought of turning around and leaving, as if none of it had ever happened. She didn't _know_ what had happened, but yet it was still her problem. Only a very, very long and profane string of expletives could ever adequately describe her current state of mind, and at the time she lacked the processing power to do even that. In the end, she was merely able to throw out the first suitable word to sum it all up.

"Skrag." She whispered, though her throat was so strangled by fear it nearly didn't come out.

And then it was over. While the conscious part of herself continued to chase itself in circles, the utter confusion passed. The practical part of her was asserting itself, and her instincts and training finally kicked in. Goose whipped the towel off her shoulder, using it to apply pressure and staunch the oozing wound. With a free hand she checked for a pulse, and was astonished to find one. It was weak, but there. He'd been stabbed just a little to the right of the heart, and if he was still alive, it must have been no more than a minute or two ago. He was fading before her eyes, and aside from her towel, she had absolutely nothing with her to use to save his life.

Now, she couldn't exactly drag him to the medbay, because he'd never make it. He was lucky to still be breathing, but that likely wouldn't hold out. Shouting for help wouldn't do much good this late at night, either. It was only after long moments of panicked indecision that Goose finally remembered that her comlink was still pressed into her ear, where she'd forgotten about it days ago. She hadn't gotten the hang of using it yet, because it was controlled by clicks of the teeth, something she had no idea what to do.

She'd left it in her ear because she'd sometimes get comm'd, usually by Jules, and had no other comlink to use instead. Goose cursed vehemently after her repeated attempts to open a channel failed, and she silently vowed to crush the damn thing under her heel as soon as she could get another one, preferably wrist-mounted. She was about to give up and try shouting when it finally worked, beeping softly while it waited for the other end to respond. Not sure who she was even calling, Goose waited expectantly as blood continued to seep into the towel. After a short eternity, when she had begun to believe it wasn't working at all, she heard a click.

"Goose?" came a tired mumble.

Had she been under different circumstances, Goose would have celebrated her good luck, the first break she'd had in ages. The voice on the other end could have been any clone in the Grand Army, but she knew it had to be Jules. After two weeks of near constant contact, it was no problem to tell him apart.

"Jules, get your choobies out of bed and down to the showers, now." she said lightly, surprising even herself at how calm she sounded. "Swing by the medbay and pick up a trauma kit and a unit of blood, while you're at it."

There was a long pause, and it dawned on her that she probably didn't sound quite as coherent as she thought she did.

"What's going on?" Jules demanded, sounding much more awake.

Goose suddenly realized she had absolutely no idea. What _was_ going on?

"I don't…. It doesn't matter!" she snapped, "I've got a wounded man in some pretty deep dwang, and I need you down here, stat. And don't forget to bring a stretcher!"

"But wha-"

"This isn't a good time for questions, Jules." Goose barked impatiently, "Don't walk, run!"

The channel closed with a click, and she could only hope that he would hurry. She hadn't made much sense, and she couldn't really blame him if he didn't take it seriously. At the moment, her patient was holding steady, though he was losing blood far too quickly. What she assumed to be his towel hung on a hook just a few feet out of her reach. If it were possible, she would have swapped it with her own towel because it had long since soaked through with blood, but she was loath to remove pressure from the wound.

Goose was keenly aware that there was nothing left for her to do except sit tight and wait. The towel was totally saturated, so that blood oozed out of it when she pressed it down harder, staining her hands a crimson red. She supposed that had this happened a few years ago, she'd probably have had to vomit by this point. It seemed that now she'd been so numbed to the gore that all she felt was a deep-set revulsion. At the same time, Goose still had to fight the urge to gag as the metallic odor pervaded her senses, and she could feel his blood squishing between her toes.

She glanced around the room again, hoping to find anything that would help. Of course, there was nothing, and it would be at least a few minutes before Jules would get there. Goose looked back at the clone slowly dying beneath her hands, trying to understand how this had happened. It had appeared that he'd been stabbed, and it couldn't have been self-inflicted because the knife was nowhere in sight. So someone had tried to murder him? That seemed unlikely, given that the only people on base besides her and the jedi were other clones. Besides, if it had been murder, why hadn't they waited to make sure he was dead?

It didn't add up. Her mind ran in circles as she knelt by his side, until a new thought popped into her mind. A spy. Who else could it have been except a spy? Then again, why would a spy want to kill a clone in the shower? It was too overt. The body would be found, the spy discovered… Goose sighed tiredly. What did she know about murder and espionage? She was tired, and her mind was making things up. That had to be it. There must have been a simpler answer…

Her thoughts were interrupted by raspy gasps from the clone. She studied him in shock, at first believing that he was awake, which was impossible. Then she saw what it was. Blood bubbled out of his lips, as his mouth gaped spasmodically for air. He wasn't conscious, he drowning in his own blood. Goose cursed herself for not recognizing it earlier, then started giving chest compressions. She shifted her weight so that her knee maintained pressure on the wound, and prayed to any deity that would listen to not let him die now.

She hadn't been able to see the angle of the wound because of all the blood obscuring her view, and she'd thought it hadn't punctured the lung. As far as she could tell, it wasn't a sucking chest wound, so it was puzzling that she hadn't noticed it in her initial examination. The blade would have had to be remarkably thin to have done such damage with so little outward sign. But that was of little importance now. He would be dead very soon if Jules didn't show up.

Almost frantically, she continued the compressions, though she was dismayed by how little blood was coming out his mouth. If too much built up in his lungs, he was a dead man. Goose didn't have a free hand to spare to check his pulse, but that was for the better. It would not have been reassuring. Her own breath came in short gasps, almost like his, as she began to lose faith. How could he possibly survive, even if she did have all of her equipment? She felt her arms tremble despite her efforts to keep her elbows locked, and a coldness crept into her hands even with the warm, sticky blood that coated them.

Then, at long last, she heard the door hiss open, followed close behind by the clatter of booted feet.

"Goose?" Jules shouted breathlessly.

She let out a sob of relief, so overcome that she almost couldn't speak.

"Back here!" was her somewhat strangled reply.

With a few more steps, Jules appeared around the partition, panting slightly. His expression was a study in shock. He stood in openmouthed surprise at what he saw. A long moment passed before Goose realized she hadn't yet told him what to do.

"Jules, take over compressions while I clear his airway," she ordered. "Don't forget to maintain pressure on the wound."

He nodded and dropped the supplies he'd brought with him on the ground, then clumsily changed places with her. He was back in his armor again, for some reason, though he'd been wearing scrubs when she'd last seen him an hour ago. Goose hardly noticed it, however, as she dug around the trauma bag for the intubation kit. She finally pulled it out, and struggled to keep her hands steady while she went through the tricky process of feeding a tube down the wounded clone's trachea, a task made even more difficult by the slippery blood on her hands. After a tense moment and a few muttered curses, it went in.

She didn't spare a moment to celebrate, and immediately affixed a mechanized pump to the end that would force air back into his lungs. A small release valve would allow any fluid in the lungs, in this case blood, to dribble out. It wasn't always a sure thing, but with any luck the pump would regulate his breathing and remove the blood, preventing him from downing. Goose fixed the tube in place with a few strips of surgical tape, and took a moment survey her work. It would hold.

"You can stop the compressions, now," she said. "Go get him started on the blood, I'll take over on the stab wound."

Jules nodded again, then moved to the side so she could take his place. It would be difficult for him to find a vein given all the blood he'd lost, but she trusted Jules to do it. Besides, she had her own problem to worry about. She lifted the towel to check how much it was bleeding, and was dismayed by how little it had clotted. She once again used her knee to hold pressure on it while she rummaged around in the bag. Goose took out a small flimsiplast packet, tore it open, and poured its chalky contents over the open wound. The dry powder absorbed the moisture of the blood, hardening into a gel like substance that sealed the wound over.

"What was that?" Jules asked incredulously.

"A coagulant that mimics the way blood clots," Goose answered absentmindedly as she taped some bandages over it, just in case. "It can be real lifesaver because it stops the bleeding, but sometimes the clots can be picked up by the blood flow and wreak all kinds of havoc. Like a stoke or a heart attack, I suppose."

She lapsed into silence as she checked his pulse once more. It was erratic, but there. The intubation seemed to be working, and Goose was pleased to see how much blood was being removed from his lungs. Of course, he was still losing that blood, but at least he'd be getting more from the IV Jules was setting up.

"Alright, let's get him on the stretcher," she said as soon as he'd finished with the IV.

They quickly unfolded it, laid it beside the bleeding clone, and gently started to move him onto it.

"Goose, have you informed anyone else on base about the…situation?" Jules asked as they secured the patient with a few safety straps.

"What? No, I barely could get the blasted comlink to work at all," she said darkly.

"I should probably report this to the jedi." He said sensibly.

She glanced at him, and could not deny he had a point. At the same time, they really had to get to the medbay, on the double.

"Can you do it while running?" Goose asked tiredly.

"Yes," he replied.

She almost rolled her eyes at herself. Of course he could, he was wearing his helmet. How thick could she be?

"Then go for it," she said, nodding at him.

He nodded back at her, and was probably deep in conversation with someone in command by the time they were racing toward the medbay, each trailing bloody footprints behind them.

* * *

A/N: I would like to inform my lovely readers that this story will be moved to the main Star Wars archive with the next update, probably within a week or two. I hope this does not inconvenience anyone, and that you continue to read. Thank you.


	14. To Save a Man's Life

#14 To Save a Man's Life

* * *

"Jules, get him rigged up to the vitals monitor," she said as soon as they'd settled the stretcher on the operating table.

"On it," he grunted back.

Goose hurriedly hooked the patient's blood bag onto the IV stand, then started snipping off the bandages. She was relieved to hear the beeping from the heart rate monitor once it was engaged, but his pulse was still thready. With great care, she peeled the now-solid coagulant out of the wound and angled one of the OR lamps to get some more light on it.

"Oh, kark," she sighed as she surveyed the damage.

It was a remarkably clean cut, and she could tell just by looking that it was also very deep. It was thin as well, no more than perhaps a half an inch wide. There would be no way for her to help him without extending the incision for a closer look.

"Scalpel," she said, holding her palm out for the instrument.

"Scalpel," Jules echoed, passing it to her.

Goose flicked the on switch, and the vibroscalpel hummed to life. She extended the incision on both ends, but was still unable to see much of anything. Blood started flowing afresh, and IV or not he was going to bleed out soon.

"Drok it," she swore softly. "I'm going to have to crack his chest. Rib spreader."

"Rib spreader," he said back.

She really hated to do it, especially given his fragile state, but there was no way around it. She had to get a visual on the damage. It wasn't very difficult to spread the ribs, in fact all one had to do was insert the arms between two ribs and turn the handle. The instrument would ratchet the ribs apart, and that was that. Of course, the procedure was invasive and might very well do him more harm than good if she didn't hurry up.

With the ribs out of the way, Goose could finally see it. The blade must have just nicked the edge of the left ventricle, then gone on to pierce the nearby lung. It had also gone in at a bit of an angle, meaning that while the heart had been largely spared, the lung was in ruins. No wonder it'd filled up with blood so quickly. Under better circumstances, she would have attempted a lung resection, but with the primitive resources she had to work with it would be all but impossible.

She probed the wound, trying to think of the best way to repair it. The heart was the major concern, because a gush of blood poured out with each beat. She'd used her fingertip to put a stop on it, but that was only temporary. There was no way a glue-stat was going to hold a moving muscle like the heart, so Goose would have to use dissolving sutures. Sutures were hardly difficult for her, but at this point it was all a race against time. She worked with the speed of desperation, his vitals taking a nose dive even as she secured the last stitch.

The only thing she could do was wait and hope the sutures held, and that his blood pressure would go back up to a safer level because of it. Her eyes were transfixed on the monitor as she stood with bated breath, not daring to move for fear that it would make something go wrong. The seconds crawled by, and the monitor continued to beep erratically. It may have only been her mind playing tricks on her, but she could have sworn that it was getting weaker.

"Come on," she murmured shakily, "Don't let the bastard get you. Fight it…"

Then slowly, ever so agonizingly slowly, his heartrate and blood pressure climbed up and stabilized. Goose whooped and laughed with relief. It was far too soon to celebrate, since she still had his lung to contend with, but at least he was out of the woods.

"Okay, Jules," she sighed. "Let's see about closing up here. Spong-"

She never got the chance to finish her sentence. Somehow, against all odds, the patient was awake. He was thrashing on the table, writhing in agony and choking on his tube. Goose swore violently, trying to hold down his shoulders to keep him from flopping off the table. She stared into his eyes, which were wild with fear, as she tried to get her voice to work again. This was impossible. With all the blood he'd lost, she would have been surprised if he'd woken up at all within the next day or so. But here he was, fully awake and without anesthetics. She was in shock. Had restoring blood flow really been enough to draw him back to consciousness?

"Get him sedated, now!" Goose finally shouted.

Jules fumbled around, then plunged a hypo into his neck. His whole body slumped back down on the table. She hoped that Jules had gotten the dosage right, but at least the patient was unconscious. It wasn't unheard of to skip anesthesia in an emergency, and it wasn't the first time she'd had to do it, but this was just too close. Who knew what damage had just been done to his already weakened heart? Goose waited for the vitals monitor to start beeping like crazy again, because she was sure there was no way he could've survived that intact.

But his heart was fine, somehow. It was something else that was the matter. Sometime when he had been awake, his tube had gone askew. Now it was twisted up in his airway, probably asphyxiating him. Goose cursed some more while carefully extubating him. With a compromised airway, it would not be safe to continue surgery. All of this was going terribly. Nothing had gone right since the moment she'd walked into those showers, and now she didn't know what else to do.

Had she been on a core world, she'd probably be facing the worst malpractice lawsuit of the century for this. But this wasn't a core world, and if this patient died, she likely wouldn't even be reprimanded. That's how little anyone seemed to care, and that's what made it worse. She had to save this patient, for her own sanity at the very least. Trouble was, she hadn't a clue what her next move was. Without intubation, continued surgery was just too risky. He'd never make it. Putting in another tube wasn't an option either, since his airway had swollen up so much she'd never get it in. But she couldn't very well leave him like this.

There was only one thing left to do. She ground her teeth in frustration, trying to see another way, but there was none. He was simply too weak to undergo surgery at the moment. They would have to wait until he was stronger, maybe tomorrow sometime, and they had restored his blood volume. He was already at risk of bleeding out anyway.

"Jules, get me a chest tube," Goose sighed.

She supposed he looked at her quizzically, though there was no way to tell through the helmet.

"What are you planning?" he asked as he handed it to her.

Goose hesitated a moment, still unsure about her plan, then forged ahead.

"If I keep operating, he'll die of the table," she explained slowly. "So I'm going to close him up and wait for him to recover a little. With any luck, he'll be strong enough by tomorrow and I can finish what I started."

She didn't mention that he might die before then, but there was really nothing more for her to do. The chest tube would drain the excess blood from the lung in absence of the pump, and the IV would help replace what he had lost. It was by no means a perfect solution, but what else was there?

"So who did you tell?" she asked Jules, trying to keep her mind off what she was doing as she went about the easy task of inserting the tube.

"Commander Cody," he said after a while, probably not sure what she'd meant at first. "He said he would look into it right away."

Then why hadn't anyone come down to investigate? It certainly hadn't felt like it, but it must have been nearly ten minutes since Jules had made the report. Surely someone should have stopped by already.

"Do you think something's the matter?" she asked as she taped the tube in place.

He didn't respond for a moment, and she assumed that it meant he was trying to contact Cody again. She knew that clones could control the external audio on their helmets, so that they could be screaming curses at you a foot away and you'd never hear it.

"I can't seem to raise him," he answered with trepidation. "All the comm channels are full."

That was not good. This only ever happened during the day, when the army was on the offensive or under attack. Never during the night. Her stomach clenched, worrying over what had happened. It could be nothing important, or it might mean hours of more surgery. She was closing up the wound with a bacta patch when she heard noise in the hallway and pre-op.

"Go check on that," she told Jules. "I'll finish up here."

The IV bag was nearly empty, so she replaced it with a new one. She did one last check to make sure everything was as good as it was going to get, then threw a few blankets over the patient to keep him warm. He _was_ naked, after all. There was also still blood all over him, but she could deal with that later, once she had everything straightened out. She was about to push him into post-op when Jules burst back into the OR. She could tell without even seeing his face that he was distressed, and her heart skipped a beat. What could it be?

"Goose, there's….there's at least a dozen wounded out there," he stuttered a bit. "They're Rex's men."

She stared back at him in shock. This never happened at night. Something was very, very wrong here.

"What?" she all but demanded.

"The…the 501st, was leading and they were ambushed," Jules continued breathlessly, "But the enemy couldn't have known. It's impossible…"

Goose let him be distraught for just a moment longer, knowing full well that he was worried most about his squad. But if there really was a dozen wounded out there, it meant there would probably be even more coming later.

"Jules, it seems to me everything that's been happening lately is impossible," she sighed. "So let's just get down to business."


	15. Darkest Before the Dawn

#15 Darkest Before the Dawn

* * *

Goose was falling asleep, and she didn't much feel like resisting it. It had been well over a day since last she'd gotten even the shortest moment of rest, and it had been nothing like the all-nighters she'd pulled in med school. There'd been one man stabbed in the shower and fourteen of Rex's troopers to deal with already that day, and it was only five in the morning. The sun wasn't yet up, though you'd never be able to tell inside the base.

She still wasn't exactly sure what had gone wrong, but from the few rumors she'd heard Skywalker had tried to lead a surprise attack at night, only to be ambushed himself. But now she was so beyond the point of utter exhaustion she hardly even cared. The moment the last patient was taken care of, Goose had shuffled out of the medbay in a halfhearted effort to hurry to her quarters to sleep before anything else came up to bother her.

But this was not to be, and before she'd made it even halfway there she'd been intercepted by a rather distracted Captain Rex, then just about dragged away to the command center for debriefing. So there she was, standing in the very nerve center of the Republic war effort on Christophsis, still wearing nothing more than a now-bloodied robe, at five in the morning. At least there weren't too many troopers around to see the strange figure she must have cut.

After all, the exertion was really starting to get to her. She was swaying on her feet, and she was sure that she looked just as bad as she felt. Perhaps even worse than that, since she'd gone a bit lightheaded. Her only saving grace at the moment was that there were no chairs in the command center, because she surely would have fallen asleep the second she sat down. At the same time, there was no guarantee that she wouldn't do the same while standing up, either. Commander Cody was in there too, pacing back and forth as if was talking to someone, which he probably was, and Rex just stood there silently. The jedi were nowhere in sight, and Goose was getting decidedly cranky.

"It's the kriffing buttcrack of dawn, and I haven't slept all night," she grumbled snarkily. "Will someone please just tell me what's going on so I can get to bed?"

They both seemed to stare at her for a long moment, then Cody pulled off his helmet. She'd never talked to the commander of the 212th before, though she'd seen him in all of his orange striped armor in passing, and was marginally surprised to see a rather livid scar just above his right eye. Clones were almost indistinguishable except by their armor or hairstyle, so it was interesting to see that he was permanently different. However, what registered the most on her still sleep deprived brain was the serious set of his face. There was a tired, harried look about him, as if he'd not slept for as long as her.

"Doctor Gosling, we have reason to believe there is a spy on the base," Cody said gravely.

Goose could not say she was altogether surprised. After stumbling across a dying man in a shower, there probably wasn't much surprise left in her at all.

"Well, the thought did cross my mind," she yawned as she replied.

He studied her face some more, as if looking for guilt, and she realized but didn't care that she sounded too flippant.

"Doctor, this is a matter of utmost importance. A spy could ruin our chances of winning the city," he continued grimly. "What exactly happened last night?"

Well, Goose had been expecting this for a while. Of course they'd want answers, even if she had none to give. She took a deep breath and rocked on her heels a bit, trying to find a good place to start. The exact details were a little fuzzy, but she was confident they would come back, sooner or later.

"It was late, after the wounded were med evaced, and I wanted to take a shower," she began slowly. "I walked into the 'fresher, stepped in some blood, then came across a body. At least I thought he was dead, except he wasn't, so I called a medic and got him to the medbay. I don't know much of what happened."

Somehow, both of them managed to keep their expressions utterly neutral. It was a very poor description, but she doubted that she could do much better at this point. She couldn't tell what they were thinking, if they believed her or not, and she shifted her feet uncomfortably. Goose noticed for the first time that there was still blood on the bottoms of her feet, and she wondered how it all bothered her so little. Shock. That had to be it.

"Do you have any idea what the weapon was?" he pressed on.

Her thoughts were brought back to the matter at hand. She thought on it for a moment, not sure of it herself.

"The knife had to have been remarkably thin, and long. It was deeper than you'd expect from such a small entry wound, so it must have been sharp, too…" Goose trailed off as it dawned on her. "A scalpel. That has to be it. I don't know of anything else on base that could have made that wound."

The two clones looked at each other. They both shared the same grim expression.

"Do you have any idea how the spy could have gotten a scalpel?" Rex asked tactfully, though his meaning was plain.

Goose understood instantly how it had sounded. The man had been attacked with a scalpel, which she had easy access to, and she was the one who had found him. For all they knew, she could have done it. She groaned inwardly. Perfect.

"The ones I've been using are meant to be disposable," she sighed. "I throw them away all the time because the battery always runs out. Anyone could have taken it out of the garbage, and you don't need to turn a vibroscalpel on for it to cut."

Rex started pacing this time, and Cody only rubbed his chin in contemplation. She wasn't sure, but she hoped she wasn't under suspicion. If that happened, how would she ever get to take a nap? Goose mentally groaned. This was all just…ridiculous. Of all the people in this war, it had to her, didn't it?

"How long after he was attacked do you think it was before you showed up?" Rex questioned.

She was brought back once more to the present. Though it was probably all subconscious, the two clones had been closing the distance between them and her. She was beginning to feel cornered, though she had no reason to. They were on the same side, and she had nothing to hide.

"Judging by the blood loss, a minute or two, tops," she estimated. "Had I shown up even a few minutes later he'd have been dead already."

Rex stopped pacing and looked over at Cody.

"Don't you think it's too convenient that a spy chose to attempt a murder just as the good doctor decided to take a shower?" he asked him.

"It could have been that the spy wasn't counting on her to show up, and that he ran away when he heard her coming." Cody offered.

Goose listened in silence. At least now they were probably getting on the right track. She wondered how anyone could have heard her in time to get away without her seeing. Then it came back to her.

"I was whistling," she blurted.

Both clones stopped abruptly and stared at her quizzically.

"What?" Rex asked, clearly thrown off by her comment.

"I was whistling while I walked through the corridors," she added quickly. "He…whoever it was must have heard me."

They nodded, then both started pacing at the same time. She wondered if they even noticed it.

"That makes more sense," Cody started contemplatively, to no one in particular. "The spy had some motive to kill Davo, but heard the doctor and ran before he…finished the job."

"Who's Davo?" Goose interjected, confused.

Cody seemed like he wanted to continue his musings, but Rex answered her anyway.

"Davo is the clone you found in the shower," he told her absently. "We asked around in the barracks."

She nodded slowly. They'd definitely been busy. It was odd to her, though, that the mystery clone now had a name. Davo.

"So the question really is, who would want to kill Davo?" Cody went on.

Her mind raced. It had occurred to her before, but it hadn't seemed nearly as important as saving Davo's life at the time. Now, with a free moment to think it over, she had a creeping suspicion that she was right.

"Well…" Goose said tentatively, "I did give this some thought earlier, and I think I might have an idea, but I don't want you to take it the wrong way. I think it may have been a clone."

As she'd expected, the two of them were staring at her disbelievingly. Had they been less disciplined, she imagined they may have gone slack jawed. And she couldn't really blame them. She knew how close knit they were, and she'd just accused one of their own of treason. But she had her reasons.

"If you think about it, there is no better explanation," she explained hurriedly. "The walls of the 'fresher are covered in mirrors, and sound echoes so much in there. It would have been nearly impossible for anyone to sneak up on someone in the showers, let alone a trained soldier. Whoever tried to murder Davo must have been someone he trusted, or at least wasn't suspicious of. That's why I think it had to be a clone."

They all lapsed into silence at the new insight. Both of them wore the same blank expressions, but she knew that inside they were not so stoic. She could tell they didn't want to believe it, but they also couldn't contradict it. Still, the revelation had a definite ring of truth.

"That…makes things much more complicated," Rex finally said, and he sounded pained. "We have to keep this under wraps. It won't be good if this spreads…especially if we don't know if it's true."

Goose felt badly about how clearly upset they were, but it could not have been helped. Nothing about this situation was any good.

"We're going to have to put Davo under guard, in case the spy comes for a second try." Cody added, "How is he doing?"

"Not so well, last I checked," she let out a sigh and shook her head. "There's not much to do besides wait, at this point. Would you like to come with me to the medbay? I should look in on his condition anyway."

"Will he be awake?"

"Not likely, but I won't say impossible," Goose replied with private sarcasm.

Cody didn't seem all that interested, but Rex certainly did. No doubt he wanted to visit all his men in post-op to check on how they were recovering.

"So long as the jedi are still investigating in the showers, I may as well go down to the medbay, just in case he's awake," Rex spoke up.

The commander seemed to understand his true intentions perfectly, and he swiftly nodded his assent. He probably would have done the same, had their roles been reversed.

"Right. I'll stay here and keep an eye on things," Cody affirmed.

Goose took it as a dismissal, so she was headed to the door before Rex had a chance to pick his helmet up from where he'd set it down on the holoprojector console. Even with all that had just been said, she still couldn't take it too seriously because it felt so surreal. At that point, her main concern was getting into real clothing, not a robe that may come undone at an inconvenient moment. Given her slow, shuffling gait, it was no hardship for Rex to catch up to her. He walked with his helmet tucked under his arm, and kept such a brisk pace that she soon found herself falling slightly behind.

Now that she noticed it, Rex looked just as exhausted as Cody did, surely having some connection to his failed attack. She supposed it wasn't something he wanted to discuss, but she still had an itching desire to know. It was still a ways from the medbay, so Goose allowed herself some time to think of a roundabout method of asking. However, her head was still quite bleary, so no discreet query presented itself. Out of ideas, she asked the next most pressing question on her mind.

"So why exactly do you suspect a spy's behind all of this?" she asked him.

Rex didn't really seem to want to answer, and for a few moments he didn't. Then he relented, though he was still hesitant about it.

"Last night, General Skywalker led Torrent Company on a mission to destroy some generators. We had been planning it for a week, and it should have crippled the droid army," he said bitterly, with almost a grimace. "It was all top secret, yet somehow the tinnies knew all about it. It was like they were waiting for us, the way they just appeared out of the alleyways in the dark."

She nodded solemnly, understanding for the first time what was plaguing him. Their losses must have been significant, especially since droids have the advantage at night. It would not have been surprising if the troopers in the medbay were the luckier ones. His lips sealed themselves in a tight line after that, and Goose knew better than to bother him again. They passed the rest of the walk in an uncomfortable silence. Goose wanted desperately for all of it, the war, everything, to just end already.

Goose led the way into the medbay, and was confronted by Jules's panicked face the moment she stepped into post-op.

"Doctor Gosling," he said breathlessly, still trying to sound formal in front of the captain. "He's dead, and I just can't explain it."

Dread settled into the pit of her stomach, but she decided to ask the obvious anyway.

"Who, Jules?"

"The trooper from the shower, the one who was stabbed…" Jules trailed off as Goose pushed past him.

Davo.

There were a few other clones in the medbay, probably visiting their buddies who were injured. They all struggled to get out of her way as she rushed to the back of the room, where Davo was. And sure enough, he was dead. This didn't come as too much of a surprise, since he'd all but died before on the table. There had only been a slim chance he'd make it long enough for Goose to operate again, but now that there was a spy involved she couldn't rule out anything.

"Has anyone been in to see him?" she asked calmly, though she really wasn't feeling that way.

Jules looked almost terrified, probably believing that he would take the blame for it. After all, how could he know there was a spy behind all this?

"I– I don't know." He stammered a bit. "Lots of men have been in to check on their squad mates, and I was too busy taking care of a burn to keep an eye on everything. I didn't even know he was dead until one of the visiting troopers came to tell me."

Goose groaned and rubbed her temples. She'd left Jules here alone with a blaster burn victim, knowing full well that he could treat it on his own. It wouldn't be his fault if a spy had gotten past him, since she never should have left him by himself under the circumstances. Besides, there was still no proof that Davo hadn't just died of his injuries.

"Jules, it isn't your fault," she sighed. "I should have stayed to help you."

Rex had ordered everyone out of the room to give them more privacy, though he undoubtedly was keeping a mental tally of all the men who had just left. The wounded could be trusted to keep quiet, especially since the majority were still unconscious. Goose looked over Davo's still body carefully, trying to find any sign that the spy had been back. There didn't seem to be anything out of the ordinary, except that he was dead. She reached up to unhook his blood bag from the IV stand, since he wouldn't be needing it anymore, but stopped herself short. Given the time that had passed and Davo's low blood volume, the bag should have been nearly empty. But it was almost as full as when she'd first hung it.

"Jules, I thought you said you didn't see this patient until after he'd died," Goose said curiously. "His blood bag looks like it was replaced recently."

"What?" he asked incredulously. "I haven't changed anyone's blood yet, and I certainly didn't let anyone else do it."

Jules was sounding increasingly defensive, and Goose was sorry that she couldn't just tell him what was going on. Rex, who had stood in the aisle way in stern silence the whole time, finally spoke up.

"Doctor, do you suspect foul play?" he asked gravely.

She honestly didn't have an answer for him. If no one had changed the blood, how could it possibly be so full? Unless…

Goose frantically followed the thin tube to the point where it entered his arm. There was a small prick mark where Jules had put in the IV in the showers. Now the needle was put in about an inch away from that. She gasped as she realized what had happened.

"Someone took the IV out of the vein and stuck it in the muscle," she said in a rush. "The transfusion never reached his bloodstream and he bled out. Hypovolemia."

They all stood in stunned silence. It was all so simple, so easy. The spy had merely waltzed in, moved the needle, then sauntered on out without as much as a second glance. At least this proved that the spy had to be a clone, since no one else could have come in with none the wiser. The question was, what motive would any clone have for killing one of his own?

"I…had better inform the jedi of…this," Rex finally said, clearly in even more distress than before.

Jules looked absolutely bewildered, and Goose was impressed that he'd not asked what was going on yet. He'd probably sensed that he wouldn't be told anyway, and was discreet enough to keep quiet. Had she been in his place, she would have been half out of her wits demanding answers. Rex replaced his helmet on his head, then strode out of them medbay, fists clenched at his sides. She and Jules stood silently for a while, neither sure what to do next.

Goose didn't quite know what happened to clones once they died, since Jules had always taken that particular responsibility. She never knew Davo, and didn't have the slightest idea who had killed him, or why. But he had died in her medbay. Had been _murdered_ in her medbay. The least she could do was show him a little respect. His eyes were already closed, so she had no need to shut them. She took out the sabotaged IV line, then switched off the vitals monitor. Goose spared a moment of silence, then pulled the sheet over the face of the man she had found dying in a shower.


	16. Snake in the Grass

#16 Snake in the Grass

* * *

Goose chewed at her bottom lip anxiously as she inventoried the medbay's supply room for the third time that day. She knew she'd be restless until the troops came back, so she tried to keep busy as much as possible, to the point of cataloging everything like there was no tomorrow. Even that had become difficult, since the med droid had finally arrived after dozens of requisitions, and put everything in perfect order. At this point, she was only triple checking what she knew to be better organized than she could have done herself. She just had to get her mind off of what was really bothering her.

Over a week had passed, and no further sign of a spy had been found. The jedi's investigation had hit a dead end almost immediately, citing a lack of evidence and a 'muddled feeling in the force,' whatever that was supposed to mean. In her opinion, the jedi hadn't really believed too strongly in the idea of a spy in the first place. They just wrote it all off as bad luck, no matter how much she insisted they were wrong. After all, how could bad luck explain a stabbing?

However, she could understand how they had been lulled into such a false sense of security. Most of the fighting had been relatively low-scale recently, generally just small skirmishes and street fights. Casualties had gone down as well, and Goose hadn't had to do more than two surgeries a day all week. None of their attacks had failed, and nothing that had gone wrong could be traced to a source any more treacherous than human error. All in all, it had been a good week for the Grand Army.

But it had been far from a good week for Goose. Now that she finally had the opportunity to get some hard earned rest, sleep eluded her. All the standing around made her more restless than ever, and she found it harder and harder to fall asleep. The specter of another clone, like Davo, dying under her care haunted her day and night. She hardly left the medbay anymore, since she was always keeping an eye on the recovering wounded like a mother hawk-bat. It didn't help that Jules was never around, having rejoined his squad after the med droid showed up.

She missed his company, and a droid really wasn't a good replacement for conversation. She'd started going stir-crazy after only two days on her own, but hadn't been able to work up the will to go out and find someone to talk to. Part of this was due to her paranoia about leaving the medbay, even though the med droid was capable of managing things on its own, but the other part was that she'd developed a slight suspicion of clones she'd never met before.

This was all since the night Davo was killed, when she'd realized the spy had to be a clone. Now she was on edge whenever she was near any of them, jumping at shadows, always getting the tingling feeling of being followed, though it was probably all in her head. The troopers had picked up how high-strung she was, and were giving her a wide berth. She was lonely during the days, hardly slept at all, and her mind was never at ease. In other words, Goose was miserable. But otherwise, morale on base was high, with no fear of a spy to keep anyone else up at night.

And that was what worried her. Apart from the events of the night of Davo's death, the Republic was faring unusually well in the war. If there ever had been a spy, the jedi believed him to be either dead or gone. Then they had suddenly been presented with a golden opportunity, to trap the advancing droid army between two towers in an ambush. It was too good to be true, but it was also too good to pass up. In other words, Goose believed it was a setup. All of the troops on base would have to be dedicated to the attack, meaning the spy would have to be among them, if he even existed.

Goose had tried to object to the plan, but by then it had been too late. She'd even asked to go with them, so that she might reduce the mortality rate by treating the wounded as soon as possible, out in the field. They'd denied this as well, so she'd been left behind on base with no one but a med droid to keep her company. It had been too eerie to walk the deserted corridors, so she'd sequestered herself in the medbay, prepping to receive the casualties she dreaded.

It was the waiting that was the hardest part. She'd had a bad feeling about this all along, and the troops were overdue. Goose still hadn't figured out her earpiece, so she couldn't listen in on the comm chatter to find out what was keeping them. By all estimates it should have been a rout, but she was starting to worry that there had been a problem. If something had gone wrong, then at least some of the wounded should have been evaced already. But still there was nothing, and Goose began to fear the worst.

She wavered between asking the med droid to comm someone for an update or just figuring it out herself, when she heard the approaching whine of a gunship's engines. Relief and panic washed over her at the same time as she grabbed her medkit and hustled to the landing pad. It was all the way on the other side of the base, however, and the gunship landed before she reached more than halfway there. As she neared the landing pad, Goose saw a few wounded men straggling up the corridor.

This wasn't entirely unusual, since there were always some walking wounded out of every conflict, but she had to find the more urgent cases that needed surgery first. She waved to the group and ran up to them. There was a collection of blaster burns and a few minor shrapnel wounds among them, but nothing life threatening. Goose felt the urge to start treating them immediately, but they would have to wait.

"Troopers, do you know where the rest of the wounded are?" she asked them breathlessly.

They all stood silently, unnervingly quiet, and the one trooper with his helmet off looked at her grimly in the eye.

"We're it," he answered gravely.

Goose stared back, not understanding. There were only four of them. But they looked exhausted, like they'd just been through the worst ordeal and had only just barely survived to tell about it.

"That can't be right," she murmured, "there's no way casualties are so low from an attack of that size."

"Ma'am, anyone not able to walk didn't make it out of there," the same clone replied darkly, "alive or otherwise."

Her gut plummeted, icy dread trickling through her veins as she heard it, her worst fears confirmed. The spy. He must have betrayed them to the Separatists, and…

Goose felt her mouth dry out in fear. How many had died? The troopers in front of her were bloodied and scraped up, but from what they said they were the lucky ones. There was no way the jedi could deny the spy's existence now.

She was full to bursting with questions, but she had to help these men first. Her head still spinning, Goose brought them to the medbay and started treating their wound with the help of the med droid. In a way, she felt some sort of bitter irony. For a week Goose had feared a deluge of casualties, and true to her fervent wish, it hadn't happened. Instead, there'd been a massacre with few survivors. She felt numbed inside, hardly feeling anything at all as she went through the motions. It was almost like that first day on Christophsis, and she suddenly wished Jules was there to help her. But he had gone with the others, to fight…

It occurred to her that she had absolutely no idea what had happened to him, but she shook the thought from her mind. It wouldn't do her any good to worry about what she had no control over. She did, however, have a burning need to know what had happened. Goose didn't think she knew him well enough to call him her friend, but she still cared very much whether he lived or died. But it would have to wait. The trooper she was working on, a fellow with some shrapnel in his leg, did not seem inclined to talk. None of the others did, either, and she did not wish to bother them. There was no telling what they'd been through or what they'd lost.

* * *

Less than an hour later, all four men had been treated and two of them discharged, their wounds not being too serious. Goose glanced at the casualty report, which the med droid had compiled for her. The losses were staggering. Nearly half of their forces had been wiped out. She searched the list for Jules, and was somewhat relieved to find that his name wasn't there. He was all right, but there were so many that weren't. Goose sighed and shook her head. This all could have been avoided, if only the jedi had taken her seriously the first time.

Goose decided to hand the report over personally, rather than send it electronically. It was the least she could do, given how low morale would be after a defeat like this. She started out toward the command center, and almost immediately regretted it. There were very few clones in the halls, a subtle reminder of what had happened. What troopers she did see were battered and walked in a daze, as if they couldn't quite believe it either.

The enormity of it was only just starting to hit her. How could the Republic possible hope to hold the city with only half of its remaining forces? And with the spy still on the base… Goose tried not to think about it. She walked into the command center to see Cody and Rex bent over studying readouts on the computer consoles. So deep was their concentration that they both startled at the sound of the doors closing.

"Doctor Gosling," Cody said, sounding exhausted. "What are you doing here?"

She studied them carefully, trying to judge how bad things really were. They both looked like they'd seen better days. Their armor was scuffed and dirty, a far cry from their usual polished gleam. She also saw an angry glint in their eyes, a hardened look she'd never noticed before.

"Casualty report," Goose said by way of answer. "Thought I'd take it over myself, given the circumstances."

Rex accepted the datapad, a tight expression on his face as he read the list. It had to be hard for him to look over all the names of his dead men. He turned and walked away with it, clearly expecting her to leave now that she'd delivered the report. But she wasn't done, not quite yet.

"Actually," she added, "I also came because I wanted to find out what was going on. The wounded were a little less than talkative."

Cody looked up from his console, obvious anger on his face.

"You want to know what happened?" he asked bitterly. "We were betrayed to the Seps, again. And this time…this time we're sure it's one of our own."

Goose nodded silently, having already guessed this to be true. Even so, she wished it wasn't the case.

"How?" she managed to ask.

"We caught a trooper listening in on us, but he got away," Rex answered with frustration, throwing the casualty report down on a console. "Ran right into the mess hall. No one but brothers there."

The spy was getting bolder. Either that, or sloppy. Regardless, Goose was eager to help. She wanted this guy to pay.

"What are you doing now?" she asked. "Any leads?"

They looked at each other uncomfortably, and she knew right away they weren't going to tell her. Of course, they were trying to keep this a secret, but she figured that she deserved to know.

"Come on, you can trust me," Goose urged, beginning to get annoyed.

"Doctor, this is about one of our men, under our command" Cody finally said. "It doesn't concern you."

She narrowed her eyes at him in growing anger. She was already in this too deep to _not_ get involved. How could they think she could stay out of it after what happened to Davo?

"Like the Nine Corellian Hells it doesn't!" Goose suddenly snapped at them both, a week's worth of anger flaring up. "The spy murdered one of _my_ patients in _my_ medbay, and there's no telling how many others he's gotten killed. _That_ makes it personal."

The two clones looked surprised by her outburst, having never seen her put quite so much emotion into something, but it also seemed to convince them.

"All right, Doctor," Cody said wearily. "We're trying to determine how the traitor got his messages out."

"Yeah, and so far we haven't had any luck," Rex added dejectedly.

Well, at least it was a place to start. Still, there was one thing she was curious about.

"And the jedi?" she wondered aloud.

"They're…conducting their own investigation," Rex said evasively.

Goose hadn't expected to get much more out of them, so she left it at that. She stepped around to check out what they'd found so far. The two clones turned back to what they'd been doing before, though they probably had already hit dead ends. Most of the things they were looking at, like old communications logs, wouldn't yield much without days of careful analysis. They certainly didn't have that much time. What caught her eye was a readout on a datapad plugged into a blue astromech droid. She skimmed through it, and was surprised when it began to look familiar.

"I think this R2 unit might have found something," Goose said slowly, cautious of jumping to conclusions.

"What, the spy?" Cody asked impatiently.

Goose looked it over again, not sure of it herself. There was no denying it, though. She'd seen the pattern before.

"I don't know, maybe," she said with growing certainty. "Here, take a look at this."

She passed it over to Rex, and the two clones studied it for themselves. Both looked puzzled by what they saw.

"It just looks like static to me," Rex said as his brow furrowed.

Somewhat exasperated, Goose took back the datapad and started jabbing her finger at the data readout, pointing out what she meant.

"Yes, but see how it shows up every few days? It's spotty, irregular, nothing you'd notice day to day," she explained, her heart skipping a beat in excitement. "It's one signal riding disguised on top of another. Piggyback, if you will."

She gave a self-satisfied grin, the first smile she'd cracked in days. Finally, they were one step closer to finding this guy. However, her elation was not to last long.

"So you've seen this before?" Cody asked with some suspicion.

She winced a bit, her grin faltering. It seemed that she was not beyond doubt after all. Of course, had anyone else found a clue with such little searching, she would have been suspicious too. She didn't mind answering, it was just that she suddenly realized that she hardly knew these men at all. Goose had never intended to share her past with them, but at this point she had little choice.

"Well…yes," Goose began tentatively. "Back when I was in med school, on Corellia, I used to be really into swoop bike racing. I even started street racing, which was….more or less illegal," she winced a bit with chagrin. "Anyway, we used piggyback frequencies to organize races so law enforcement wouldn't find out until it'd already happened."

Embarrassment tinged her cheeks, and she wasn't quite sure what they would think of her admission. Laugh at the very idea of it? It probably had been ridiculous to watch her, an arrogant med student her first time off-planet, ride a bike that had dwarfed her. Looking back, she regretted most of the things she'd done in med school anyway. She studied their reactions carefully, but they must have learned long ago not to give themselves away because she still couldn't tell what they thought.

"So that knee injury…" Rex said slowly, his face taking on a solemn look, though both looked like they were holding back mirth.

Chagrined, she nodded. It was amazing that he still remembered her knee brace from nearly three weeks before, but at least he hadn't outright laughed at her.

"…was from a swoop crash, yes," Goose said quickly, trying to back herself out before she dug the hole deeper. "But that isn't the point. Look, all of the signals are coming from the same computer terminal, every time."

"Slick's barracks," Cody said gravely, eyes lit with recognition, any sign of levity gone. "Only Slick's men would have access to it."

"Wasn't Davo one of Slick's squad?" Rex asked.

Cody's eyes widened in revelation. Goose recognized the name as well, suddenly remembering her brief meeting with Slick not long after Davo's death. He'd come in with the rest of his squad to pay his respects to Davo. Slick had made the greatest impression on her because out of all of them, he'd seemed the most aggrieved. She felt sorry that he'd have to receive such bad news again so soon. Meanwhile, Rex and Cody had gone right on with their deductions.

"Of course," Cody said. "Davo must have seen too much, but didn't realize it. That explains why he didn't put up a fight in the shower."

"He trusted the spy because it was one of his own squadmates!" Goose jumped in breathlessly, too caught up in her excitement to realize the grim mood of the two clones.

"Slick's not going to like any of this…" Rex said with a grimace.

"No, he's not," Cody shook his head, "but if one of his men is giving away _our_ intel, we're going to have to find him and sort this out."

Without another word, the two of them started out the door. Goose set down the datapad on the console, then gave the R2 unit's dome a pat to let it know it had done good job. She chewed the inside of her cheek for a moment, but made up her mind quickly. This was not something she was going to miss.

"Hold up," She called after them. "I'm coming with you."

They stopped, and Rex gave her a harried look. For a moment she hoped he would be too tired to object, but it didn't last long.

"No," he said flatly. "You're a doctor, not a detective. Cody and I will handle this."

Taken aback, it took her a moment to protest.

"Even after I helped you?" Goose demanded. "Come on, I want to get this guy as bad as you do!"

Both clones regarded her with icy stares, and she wondered if she'd crossed a line, though she didn't know how.

"We're about to go inform a tight-knit squad that one of them is a traitor who murdered one of their squad a week ago," Cody said harshly. "That'll be bad enough as it is. How much harder do you think it will be for them if an outsider is there watching?"

Of course. How could she have been so blind? The knowledge that another clone, one of their brothers, had sold them out must have been tearing them up inside. She felt awful for ignoring that fact. Goose felt even worse at hearing the way Cody had just about spat out the word _outsider_. Was that what they really thought?

"No offense, Doctor," Cody added belatedly.

"You're right," Goose bowed her head, mentally kicking herself for being so obtuse. "I'm sorry."

They nodded their acceptance of the apology, then grimly continued on their way. Goose stood there uncertainly, dithering away while she tried to decide whether or not to follow them. They deserved their privacy, she understood that now, but at the same time she very badly wanted to see the spy taken down. After all, she had just spent a week in a state of paranoia, and it would soothe her conscience to personally see him arrested. The stronger urge won out, so she ended up following them at a very discreet distance toward the barracks.

Several troopers passed by her on the way there, but none seemed to realize that she was tailing their commanding officers, much to her relief. It most likely they were still mourning their losses, however. She felt even worse about following Rex and Cody, but decided it was too late to turn back. They finally entered one of the barracks, and she crept up as nonchalantly as possible in case any more troopers came down the corridor. There was no way she could press her ear to the door without triggering the proximity sensor that opened it, so she had to try her best to listen through the wall.

It was tough to make out anything, since the walls were still relatively thick even though it was a temporary base. She couldn't hear more than a word or two out of every sentence, not nearly enough to follow the conversation. To make things worse, all the clones had the same voice, so it was nearly impossible to tell who was speaking without seeing them. But Goose stuck around anyway, because she was determined to see this through. It did occur to her that she'd get an earful if they discovered her, but that mattered little at the moment.

Eventually, her patience paid off, and she heard some sort of commotion within the barracks. Suddenly, several raised voices started all at once, though she still couldn't tell what they said. Goose pressed her ear closer to the wall in an attempt to hear better what was being said, but to no avail. She wondered impatiently what was happening as she ran through scenarios in her mind. Then she heard a few thumps, as if someone had fallen to the floor. The door hissed open, and Goose jerked away from the wall, a guilty look on her face, worried that she'd just been caught.

There was something familiar about the clone that came out of the doorway. It took a long moment for her to realize that it was Slick she was looking at, though he was hardly recognizable. An ugly sneer twisted his face as he saw her, and there was a look of such malice in his eyes that she froze where she stood. Her mind slowed to a standstill, as if the figurative gears in her head were stuck. Slick started running down the hallway in her direction, but Goose only continued to stare in stunned paralysis, uncertain of what she was even seeing, though she had a growing suspicion.

"Slick?" came a hoarse shout from within the barracks "Slick's the traitor?"

And with that the gears clicked back into place, her mind resuming its normal speed. But by then Slick was already upon her, and it seemed that out of nowhere his fist connected with her face. Pain blossomed in its wake, and the blow sent her staggering several steps backward. Goose tried to regain her senses, but by the time she did it was too late.

Slick charged on past her, Rex and Cody following in hot pursuit. In her mind, which was still numbed with fear, Goose jumped out of their way so they could catch him. In reality, she tripped over her own feet and fell against the wall with a groan. She stared after where they'd disappeared around the corner, still processing the events of the last few seconds. Slick was the spy. He murdered Davo, one of his own men. Then he'd come back to the medbay, to the scene of his last crime, to do what? Apologize to Davo? Gloat over his body? But that couldn't be it. Out of all of the men who had come to pay their respects to Davo, he was the only one who had cried.

Tentatively, she lightly felt around her face to see how bad it was. He'd struck her left eye, though the orbital rim had taken the brunt of it. She could already feel her eye swelling shut, but couldn't tell if there were any fractures. Regardless, she would be fine, though it hurt like skrag. Shaking from the adrenaline, Goose forced herself to start walking in the general direction of the medbay. For a moment she felt a slight embarrassment that he'd taken her down so easily, then remembered he was a professional soldier. He'd been trained to do that since birth, or decanting, in his case.

She stopped at the door to the barracks, still in a daze, acting on an urge to try and make them feel better. If they were feeling even half as bad as she imagined it felt to have your sergeant turn out to be a traitor, then she bet they were feeling just awful. Her brain still flooded endorphins, Goose caught sight of a few pinup posters, and chuckled to herself, wondering how they'd managed to smuggle them in. Then she saw the shocked expressions of all the men huddled together in the room, and realized there was not a thing she could do for them. So she continued on her way.

It was a strange thing to be in shock. Goose couldn't be sure if it was from being punched or just the overall absurdity of the entire situation, but she was feeling quite lightheaded. It had occurred to her that if she had a real comlink, she'd be able to call the medbay to advise the med droid of her situation. She made another mental note to ask for one. Goose was sure she looked as dazed as the day she'd gotten her draft order, but that was all right by her because she didn't run into anyone in the hallway, probably since the alarm had gone off, and everyone was out looking for Slick.

Goose eventually wandered into the medbay, and was surprised to see Jules there. Or, rather, Jules's back, since he was in the middle of reaching for something on a shelf. Even with her mind made so bleary, she felt a wave of relief to see him safe.

"Oh, hey Jules," she mumbled blearily in greeting. "Watcha doin' here? I would've thought you'd be out looking for the spy like everyone else."

"According to Standard Operating Procedure, appointed medical personnel must attend the medbay during an emergen-" Jules began, then turned around to face her, and froze. "Goose! Your face, what happened?"

She considered him quizzically, but conceded that her eye probably looked a mess by that point and was likely quite disconcerting.

"Oh, you know," Goose shrugged. "Slick took a swing at me when I got in his way. Not a really nice guy, you know."

"Slick?" he demanded, "What does Slick have against you?"

Goose sent him another funny look, and decided that he must not have been told, for some reason.

"Didn't you hear?" she asked dryly. "Slick was the traitor all along."

Jules drew back in surprise, shock written all over his face.

"What?" he asked disbelievingly. "But…but he came to see Davo after…after he…"

Goose let him come to his own conclusions. Finally, Jules seemed to remember Goose's bruised state. He sat her down on the end of a biobed in post-op, then gingerly began to probe around her eye. Her temper unusually short, she slapped his hand away and hissed in pain.

"Just use a bioscanner, will you?" she snapped at him. "It'll be easier to find fractures that way."

He nodded silently, clearly stung by her sharp words. Goose would probably feel badly about it later, but at the moment her own physical discomfort weighed more heavily on her mind. Jules brought back a bioscanner with him, and quickly scanned the skeletal structure of her face.

"No fractures, but there is still damage to the soft tissue." Jules reported. "I'll get you some acetaminophen for the pain, it should also help with the swelling too…"

He trailed off as he realized that she already knew that, then went to go find the medication.

"I'd like a coldpak too, if you don't mind." She called after him, beginning to think she may have somehow hurt his feelings.

Jules nodded wordlessly, then proceeded to rummage around for one. To fill the empty silence and make herself feel better, Goose started whistling softly. She startled when she realized it was the same tune she'd whistled on the way to the shower that night a week ago, and she cut herself off abruptly. Jules came back with the supplies a few moments later, radiating concern.

"Goose, are you sure you're all right?" Jules asked anxiously. "You were hit on the head, it's possible you have a concussion."

Goose only hmphed at his distress.

"Honestly, Jules, I'm fine," she grumbled. "Just coming off of a cortisol rush, or something. Besides, I've been having a very odd day. Check my pupils, if it'll make you feel better."

Jules shook his head and handed the coldpak to her. Suddenly, like a clap of thunder and an earthquake all at the same time, the whole base shook in a massive explosion. The lights flickered and IV stands swayed, threatening to topple over.

"That sounded like it came from the weapons depot!" Jules said nervously.

Goose, whose head was starting to clear as the adrenaline worked its way out of her system, nodded slowly in agreement. A feeling of trepidation welled up in her once more.

"I told you, Slick's not a very nice guy," she muttered. "Finish up with me, then we can go check for wounded together."

"Are you sure you're up to it?" asked Jules cautiously. "You still don't look so good."

Goose stood up slowly, careful not to let blood rush to her head.

"It's nothing, trust me," she said.

He couldn't really object, since she technically outranked him, but Jules insisted on carrying the medkit for her anyhow. Goose didn't mind in the least, happy to let someone else do the heavy lifting for a change. When they arrived, they found the area to be utterly devastated. Either by luck or by design, no one had been seriously hurt in the explosion. The real carnage had been among the Republic's war machines. Most of the tanks, gunships, and much of the ammunition had been utterly destroyed in the blast. All that remained were the heavy cannons, according one of the troopers at the scene.

Goose didn't know much about how wars were fought, but she did know that they didn't stand much chance of winning without tanks or air support. She watched in helpless silence as the various crafts were engulfed in flames, then turned to head back. There was nothing for her there, and the blow to the head had made her quite tired. The entire day had been one long fiasco, from start to finish, and she wanted to get as far from it as possible.

On the way back to the medbay, however, she came across a sight that stopped her dead in her tracks. It seemed that Slick had been caught, after all. He stood opposite the two jedi, practically snarling and straining against Rex, who held him back. On the surface, he might still have appeared as identical as all the other clones. But even at this distance, Goose could see that something had changed. A wild, deranged look had entered his eye, almost that of a cornered animal.

"I–I love my brothers," she heard him say desperately. "You're just too blind to see it…but I was striking a blow for all clones!"

Slick twisted as if to break free, but Rex doggedly held on to him. Hatred, of him and all he had done, rekindled itself in her heart. It disgusted her that he'd even had the audacity to say that what he had done was right. Slick was a murderer, plain and simple. He deserved no better than what he'd given to Davo. Goose set her jaw and approached the group of them with a few stiff-legged steps.

"And I'll bet Davo thanked you for it," Goose said dangerously, not able to keep the malice from her voice, "as you stabbed him through the heart."

In an instant Slick's face drained, and his expression was one of utter anguish. For a moment, Goose almost believed that he felt sorry about it. But that didn't matter. Davo was dead, and it had been at Slick's hand.

"I didn't want to kill Davo, he…I…I had no choice!" Slick protested wildly as two guards came to drag him away. "I love my brothers. I love them! You don't understand…"

Goose ground her teeth as she listened to his shouts recede down the hallway. All of the men around her, both jedi and clone, looked shaken. So many emotions ran through her that it was impossible to tell what she was feeling. Anger? Revulsion? Despair? In the resulting stillness, it took her a long while to notice that she was trembling so badly the hand holding the coldpak over her eye was visibly shaking. She struggled to steady her hand while the jedi tried to regain their composure.

"Were we able to salvage anything from the weapons depot?" General Kenobi asked nobody in particular.

The question hung in the silence for a while, and no one seemed inclined to say anything. Though her mind was working sluggishly, Goose decided that she may as well answer if nobody else would.

"They managed to save the heavy cannons, but the rest is just about scorched," Goose offered, her voice somewhat shaky. "I just came from there, and it's still a mess."

The generals listened grimly to the bad news. They'd have to send the ship back to resupply, and then have to hold out for days until it returned.

"Well, that's good, because there are about a thousand battle droids on their way here," Kenobi said with some amount of sarcasm, though his expression was utterly serious.

A thousand droids… Goose hoped he was exaggerating, but for the umpteenth time that day she felt a cold fear gathering in the pit of her stomach. Things were about to get ugly.

"The fight goes on, gentlemen," Skywalker warned as he and Kenobi turned to leave.

"And lady," she added softly, though loud enough for the two clones to hear.

"Doctor, will you be able to operate in your condition?" Cody asked tactfully, in regard to the coldpak pressed against her eye

Her lips twisted into an ironic grin, even as that old feeling of despair gripped her again.

"I'll be alright as long as it doesn't swell shut. Even then, it looks like I don't have much of a choice, now do I?" Goose sighed wearily, all hopes for sleep dashed. "I guess I'll go prep the medbay to receive casualties, now. There's no telling what tomorrow's going to be like."

* * *

A/N: I'm sorry this update took such a while, so I hope it is long enough to make up for that. Please don't forget to review!


	17. Dear Mom

# 17 Dear Mom

* * *

Goose sat down heavily against the crumbling duracrete wall, settling down on the dusty ground with a tired groan. She shut her eyes for a moment, almost drifting to sleep as she felt her aching limbs tingle with exhaustion. Then she roused herself with another groan and sat up a bit more, however reluctantly. No matter how tired she was, she wanted to finish the letter. Goose picked up her datapad from the chunk of masonry she'd left it on, then blew off the thick layer of dust that had fallen on the screen after only a few hours of lying there. She powered it up, then slowly read over what she'd already written.

 _Dear Mom,_

 _I am well, thank you. The Republic has recalled me from Virgillia, and I've been transferred to the Kaliida Shoals MedCenter. Don't worry, I'm safe here. The station it several parsecs away from the fighting, and the Separatists would never dream of attacking a hospital ship. The equipment here is all new, and the food is alright. I have nothing to complain about, so_

Goose sighed. That was all she'd managed to write in the two days after receiving her mother's worried message. It'd probably been sent weeks ago to Virgillia, where it had sat around for an eternity before being rerouted to her on Christophsis. At first she'd felt ashamed that she'd forgotten to write to her own mother about her new post as a combat surgeon. Then she'd realized that she didn't even know what to say to her. Goose hated to lie, but she also didn't want her mom to find out she had willingly accepted, even asked for, a dangerous post. It would only make her worry.

In this way, Goose was relieved that holo communications weren't available because of the blockade, which the Separatists had reformed only hours after she received the message. At least she wouldn't have to lie to her face. But everything she tried to write sounded so trite and leaden that she didn't really think her mother would ever buy it. It was easy to say that she'd been transferred to Kaliida Shoals, because she almost had been, but when she tried talking about how safe and happy she was, it just wouldn't come out right.

That was probably because she wasn't safe, not in the least. Three days ago, the Resolute had left orbit with Slick aboard to rendezvous with the fleet and resupply. Whatever happened to Slick, Goose couldn't care less of anymore, because not long after that the Separatists had marched upon them at full force. A day later, they'd been forced to abandon the base once the blockade in orbit had started to send aircraft to bombard them. They'd been pushed back all the way back to the same staging area where troops had first deployed only three weeks prior.

The fighting hadn't really stopped in the last three days, but there had been lulls a few hours long that everyone tried to use to rest. But that never really gave her enough time for actual sleep, because Goose had to keep working to save the wounded even after the shooting had stopped. However, the medics had been an immense help to her, working themselves to the bone to keep up with it all. She could have been killed any number of times in the past three days, but there she was, still alive. And at the moment it seemed her biggest problem was that letter.

It was silly, really. Her mother, who was living safely light-years away, was not nearly as important at the moment as the lives of the men she was saving. Yet this letter to her mom _was_ important. Goose had hardly been able to send anything to her the entire three years she'd lived on Virgillia, and she was using one of the few opportunities she had tell her a lie. She'd already decided it couldn't be helped, but that didn't stop her from struggling with it.

She was jolted out of her reverie when the heavy cannons started to _whoomp_ again, the reverberations shaking loose bits of ceiling plaster that rained down on her and her patients. The makeshift first aid station had been set up inside a crumbling office building, but to Goose it almost felt as if the danger of the roof caving in on them was worse than the risk of keeping the wounded outside. In the end it hadn't been her decision to make, and she'd just had to deal with the constant fear of a building collapse.

Goose heaved herself to her feet with a sigh, setting the datapad back down so she could deal with it later. The cannons resuming their fire probably meant the Separatists' droids were marching towards them again. She quickly made her rounds, checking to see if all her patients were all right, before preparing to receive new ones. Around her, the medics had started to do the same, many of them picking up their stretchers and readying themselves to go out and ferry the wounded back.

Mentally, she started to steel herself for the next wave of casualties. There was no telling if it would stop after only fifteen minutes, or drag on for hours. Goose must have had a particularly melancholy expression, because Jules had come up to her and was giving her that worried look he sometimes had right before a battle. She answered him with a wan smile, but hadn't the energy to muster even a few words of comfort. He gave a small nod back to her, then turned to look for something in his medkit. It wouldn't matter all that much anyway. The droids were coming, and there was nothing she could've said to him that would have made either of them feel any better.

It was not long before they all could hear the eerily awful _chunk-chunk-chunk_ of the approaching droids as they all marched in unison.

* * *

Half an hour later, it ended just as abruptly as it had begun. Goose never saw much of the battles from inside the aid station, but this one had been unusually quick. From the chatter of the clones around her, most were confident that things were finally turning to their favor. She hoped they were right. Meanwhile, she had her own problems to contend with. Droids were just as deadly even as they were destroyed, since they made deadly shrapnel regardless if they were blown up or shot to pieces. Goose idly wondered if the droids' creators had taken that into consideration when designing them as she wrangled with a section of a droid's durasteel faceplate that had embedded itself five inches in a trooper's leg.

It took her another half hour to coax out the shrapnel without tearing the muscle any further, then even longer to set the broken bone and repair the soft tissue. The trooper would walk again, of that she was sure. Of course, that was only if they all survived until the Resolute came back. Soon, she hoped. Goose also gave that trooper one of her few remaining units of blood, since he'd lost a lot during the operation. Before long, however, she would run out. They'd taken as much supplies as they could from the medbay at the base before retreating, but constant fighting had worn down what little they had.

The Resolute was due to arrive soon, however. By all estimates it should return by the end of the day, tomorrow at the latest. Goose sincerely hoped so, because they were running low on bacta as well. She figured that if the fighting kept up at this rate, their meager supplies would be exhausted within two days, even if they stretched it. Already she was forced to take shortcuts, and what she would do once the bacta actually ran out, she did not know. The sooner the ship came back, the better.

Finished with the patient, and satisfied that he was stable enough to leave alone, Goose stripped off her bloodied gloves and tossed them in a corner. Days ago, she'd decided it would be better if she simply used the same pair of gloves for several patients in a row. She hated to do it, however. It was true they all shared a blood type, but the risk of contamination was still high. The only thing worse than reusing gloves is not to wear them at all, so she'd had to take measures to keep from running out. As a result, she always made sure every patient received some antibiotics. Infections were still sure to spread, though, regardless of what she did.

Goose absentmindedly brushed dirt off her fatigues, a never ending task these days with so much dust and debris hanging in the air, kicked up by countless explosions. She looked around for other patients in need of treatment, but did not see any. Jules was stretched out on the ground near the far wall, taking a well-deserved nap. Other medics were catching some sleep as well, though some were still awake and keeping a watchful eye on the wounded.

She trusted them to keep everything under control, and on a whim she decided to go outside for the first time close to two days. Goose stopped only to pick up her datapad, then continued on her way outside. For a moment, she was so taken aback that she could only stop to stare. In only the past few days, the landscape had changed so drastically as to become utterly unrecognizable. When last she had seen it, the square had actually escaped the invasion relatively unscathed, with much of its beautiful architecture still intact. Now, it shared nearly no resemblance with its former elegance.

In only two days, this part of the city had been utterly destroyed. The large plaza was in ruins, chunks of scorched masonry and charred duracrete littered the ground. Half-collapsed buildings studded the landscape. Smoke rose from still-smoldering fires that no one had the energy to put out. Burnt-out craters pockmarked the ground. Battle droids, blasted to pieces, had been roughly cleared to the sides of the streets, though no one had bothered to dispose of them. The bodies of dead troopers had been treated with more respect, though they had only been dragged into neat rows some distance behind the front line.

Those troopers still alive rested as best they could, lounging amid the rubble. Some slept, and others ate their dismal-looking field rations. Yet the majority of them sat in haggard silence, eyes looking down the empty street, dreading to hear the clanking return of the droids. The jedi were nowhere in sight, but Goose was sure they were off somewhere making a strategy, or whatever it was that generals did. She might have joined the sleeping clones, since she was plenty tired enough, but decided to hold off until after she'd made just a bit more progress on the kriffing letter.

Not far away, Goose saw Coric, who was busy treating a wounded clone. He'd probably been too stubborn to go to the first aid station to have it looked at. She walked up to see if Coric might need help, but he wordlessly waved her off. In a more serious case she would have helped him anyway, but it was only a minor shoulder wound, so she was content to leave it to him. Near him sat Rex, who happened to be shaving off a few days' worth of stubble from his bald head while resting in the shade of a partially demolished column. It was refreshing to see something so normal amid the devastation of the city around them.

With a soft sigh, Goose sat down in a sunny spot a few feet from them. She was much to worn out to make small talk, and knew that they were too, so she didn't bother with more than a polite nod toward Rex. He was a captain, after all. Then she reluctantly settled in and started carefully typing out the rest of the letter. It was slow going, however, and she found herself losing concentration every minute or two as her fatigued mind wandered from the task at hand.

Goose was exhausted. That, she knew very well. Yet for some reason, she appeared to have reached a point where she was so tired she didn't even feel it. She supposed it just meant she was going numb, which was fine by her. The past few days would have taken their toll on anybody. Thankfully, the painful memories associated with Slick faded as she ran out of time to think about them. The physical marks were disappearing as well, she hoped. In the absence of a mirror, she couldn't tell how her eye was doing, but it didn't hurt so much anymore so it had to be clearing out. That was for the better, because it had been rather uncomfortable for her to walk around looking like she'd just gotten out of a brawl.

"Steady with the polish, sir," Coric said to Rex, finally breaking the long silence. "If you shine it up any more, we'll have to put a camo net over you."

It took Goose a moment to realize he was joking. She could only attribute it to the fact that it had been so long since anyone had said anything even remotely lighthearted. As discreetly as possible, she listened intently for his response.

"Use me for signaling," Rex replied dryly. "Should be able to see me from orbit."

At that, she allowed herself a small grin. So it turned out that he was a total stick in the mud, after all. She'd wondered about that. Goose debated whether or not to jump in, and decided it best to leave the bantering between the two troopers.

"You missed a patch, sir. Going for the tufted look?" Coric continued impishly.

"Maybe a topknot," Rex deadpanned. "Or a fancy braid like those Weequay pirates."

Goose suppressed a smile as the mental image of Rex with beaded braids flashed through her mind's eye. She would have paid good credits to see such a sight. Again, she decided it best not to intrude upon their friendly ragging. Instead, she finished up her letter and read it over with scrutiny.

 _Dear Mom,_

 _I am well, thank you. The Republic has recalled me from Virgillia, and I've been transferred to the Kaliida Shoals MedCenter. Don't worry, I'm safe here. The station it several parsecs away from the fighting, and the Separatists would never dream of attacking a hospital ship. The equipment here is all new, and the food is alright. I have nothing to complain about, so don't worry about me. Tell everyone back home on Nubia I'm okay, and give grandma a hug for me. I don't know how long it will be before comm channels will open up in this sector, but I'll try to give you a call as soon as possible. As always, I hope to return home soon._

 _Love,_

 _Valerie_

It wasn't perfect, but it would have to do. Goose could think of nothing else to say, even though it was more than a little suspicious to tell her not to worry twice. Now all she had to do was wait until after the Separatists stopped jamming all communications off-world and she could send it. Meanwhile, Coric seemed to have finished tending to the trooper's shoulder.

"Running low on bacta, sir," he reported to Rex, this time with all seriousness. "Okay on analgesics for the time being."

This was nothing she didn't already know, but it still gave Goose a wave of anxiety to hear it spoken with such finality. She decided to chime in, this time.

"We're low on blood for transfusions, too," she added reluctantly, hoping not to dampen the mood further. "Only about four or five pints left."

Rex nodded gravely, and seemed to be doing quick mental calculations.

"The ship was sent back for replenishment, but it should be back in–"

Rex was never able to finish. A massive explosion, followed in quick succession by another one just as close, shook the whole street. Despite the ringing in her ears, Goose still heard the tell-tale _chunk-chunk-chunk_ of the advancing droids.

The next wave had arrived.

* * *

A/N: As of 11/27/15 my penname has been changed from eca4411 to Ace1997. I apologize if this has caused any confusion.


	18. Hardscrabble Doctoring

#18 A Bad Day Gets Worse

* * *

Before the last of the debris had stopped falling from the crumbling buildings, Rex was already sprinting out to meet the advancing droids. Only a moment behind was Coric, followed closely by the wounded trooper. It took Goose a few moments longer to stagger to her feet, but once she regained her balance she cautiously followed where they'd gone. Her first priority was to locate anyone injured in the blast. Apart from that, she didn't have the faintest idea of what to do next. Battle was _not_ her strong suit.

Not far from her, a trooper lay on the ground, clearly wounded, and writhing in pain. Other medics were too busy dealing with their own issues, and could not get to him. She was his only chance, and yet…the risk was immense. Rank upon rank of battle droids was descending on their position, and, caught off guard, the troopers were desperately fighting back. Blasts from their own heavy cannons were echoed by volleys from enemy tanks. Blaster bolts from both sides streaked past her, seeking their targets. If she tried to go help that trooper, there was a very sizable chance she'd end up killed in the crossfire before she made it two steps.

Her heart leapt into her mouth, and her stomach knotted in fear despite her attempts to take deep breaths. She couldn't just _leave_ him there, it was her responsibility to save his life. It was the only reason she was there, really. Goose took a shuddery breath and tried to quickly think of a good way to stay alive. If she ducked down and ran for her life, she might just make it. But she dithered for a moment, knees shaking as the adrenaline shot through her. She was a doctor, not a soldier. This was insane. She belonged in the safety of a medbay, not in the danger and chaos of battle. That first day on Christophsis had been dangerous, yes, but at least then she hadn't actually _seen_ the fighting. This was different.

Muttering a string of curses, she finally resolved to take her chances and just go. Keeping her head down, Goose dashed out from the relative safety of the sidelines, tripping slightly on some rubble as she went. In panic, she dove to the ground and slid the rest of the way, a stray blaster bolt narrowly missing her flailing legs. She was sure that idiotic stunt would leave her with some bruises, but at least she had made it. Grabbing him by the ankles, she dragged the wounded trooper, trailing blood behind him, into better cover behind a heap of debris and started to assess his injuries.

He was only semiconscious, and murmured incoherently as she pulled him closer to her with a grunt. The trooper's left arm was all but gone, blown off on impact. Shrapnel studded his torso, but it did not appear that much of it had penetrated the armor, for once. Working feverishly, Goose tied a tourniquet to the stump of his arm in a bid to stop the bleeding, then started to empty her pockets in search of something useful. She didn't have a medkit with her, but over the past couple of days she had accumulated bandages and packets of gauze.

Desperately, she packed as much gauze as she could find into the stump, tying everything down with bandages. She rummaged around his personal medpack next, giving him a hypo of morphine as soon as she found it. Goose wanted to cauterize the stump, which would at least stop the bleeding, and do more to try and save the nerves. If she managed to pull him through this, it was possible he could receive a cybernetic arm as a replacement. However, that option would go out the airlock of his nerve endings were too badly damaged.

Goose felt for his pulse, and grumbled with frustration at how weak it was. For just a few moments, she was so absorbed with that trooper that the rest of the battle melted away and she nearly forgot about it. Then a massive blasted erupted not far from where she knelt, perhaps only ten feet, and showered bits of pavement and clods of dirt all over her and her patient. That was far too close for comfort. Her heart resumed its erratic pounding in her chest, and once more adrenaline coursed through her. She needed to hurry up.

There was nothing more she could possibly do for his arm, because she lacked both the equipment and the luxury of time to care for it properly. She moved on to his chest, which was peppered with shrapnel, and decided the only thing for her to do was to take off his chestplate and see what damage there was. As she struggled to unclasp the armor, Goose became increasingly aware of how tenuous her position was. She could be overrun by droids any minute. Her field of vision was limited by the rubble heap she was taking refuge behind, and she hadn't the slightest clue whether or not they were winning.

She suddenly became aware of a new sound from the battlefield, in the direction of the advancing droids. It was a loud metallic shriek, as if of metal grinding on metal, accompanied by the high-pitched whine of something reminiscent of a laser canon. Overcome by curiosity and no small amount of trepidation, Goose chanced a peek at whatever it was that she was hearing. She immediately regretted it. Three towering Octuptarra tri-droids lumbered into view, monstrous automatons with a trio of laser cannons rotating on their bulbous heads.

Although she recoiled in fear, Goose was unable to look away. Where had those _things_ come from? With their strange, insect-like legs they advanced on the clones holding the line. It was unnerving to watch them as they lurched almost drunkenly at them with a disconcerting three-legged gait. She saw a few blaster bolts bounce off the armored shell of one as if the shots had been pebbles rather than lasers. If even a direct hit could not penetrate that armor, how could they ever hope of bringing down such a monster? And there were three of them.

Above the din of the battle, the order of attack faintly reached her ears. The line of clone troopers rose up to charge, and even as she watched a bolt from a tri-droids turret smashed into a trooper's head, easily lifting him five feet in the air as if he was a rag doll. His helmet shattered in the blast, and she watched helplessly as his jaw was torn off, fluttering through the air like a wounded bird, trailing blood. The trooper's lifeless body thumped to the ground, and even from five yards away she could see clearly the ruined, gaping hole that was left of his face. Seemingly unaware, his comrades climbed over his body and continued the assault.

"Oh, kark," she gasped.

Goose felt her stomach knot, and bile rose up her throat. Somehow, perhaps through sheer willpower alone, she mastered her bowels and managed not to vomit. But the troops were charging the droids now, and that meant casualties. Lots of them. Working quickly, she finally pried off the trooper's chestplate, and was relieved to see the damage there was no more than superficial. At this point, there was not much more she could do, and had to go see if there were others she could help. In case anyone else came across him, she scribbled his current pulse and dosage of morphine on his helmet with a marker, which had stated to wear out after so much use.

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Goose prepared to go search for other wounded men. It seemed the fighting was now close-quarters, and she shuddered as she watched a trooper punch a droid's faceplate. That would accomplish nothing more than breaking all the little bones in his hand. She wanted to help as soon as she could, but it was still extremely dangerous. There was the possibility the droid forces would be so preoccupied with the clones that she could move around relatively safely, but she did not want to test that theory.

Keeping low to the ground, Goose darted from cover and sprinted over to the next wounded man she saw. He'd been shot in the leg, but was otherwise all right. While she set about bandaging the wound, she happened to glance up and see Skywalker balanced precariously on a tri-droid's head, glowing blue lightsaber plunged into its carapace. She wished him good luck. Not long later, the massive droid fell to the ground with a massive crash. The other two soon followed suit.

At first she had only believed herself to be imagining it, but after a while it became clear that the sound of blasterfire was more and more erratic. Risking another glance, Goose poked her head up in time to see a few tanks and the end of the droid column become engulfed in flames and blasted to bits by the Republic's heavy cannons. She breathed out a long sigh once she saw the remaining droids start to turn back. For some reason, they'd given up.

But that mattered little to her. Finished with the trooper's leg, Goose started to pick through the rubble, limbs tingling somewhat from the aftereffects of the adrenaline. The shooting had stopped, and the cannons subsided. As if to seal their victory, a Republic supply shuttle glided down from the sky like a blessing to land just behind the front line. It was the most welcome sight in the galaxy to her weary eyes, and she silently rejoiced. The Resolute must have returned from resupplying, carrying with it the reinforcements and supplies they desperately needed. She hoped more shuttles would arrive soon.

Moving through the rubble in a daze, Goose skirted around craters in the street, searching for wounded troopers. She had survived that, somehow. But she wasn't sure just how much more of this the Republic could take. As if they were suddenly released from a trance, the troopers around her started to do the same, helping their wounded comrades. Upon finding another wounded trooper, this one quite badly injured, she called for a stretcher. Then she got down to business.


	19. A Bad Day Gets Worse

#19 A Bad Day Gets Worse

* * *

Goose was getting sick of all the dirt. She was covered in it, her patients were covered in it, and no matter what she did her instruments were covered in it, too. How could she be expected to perform surgery while grubbing around in the least sterile environment she could possibly imagine? At this point, it was far worse than anything on Virgillia. The groans of the newly wounded filled the first aid station as they gradually staggered in, and she started to grit her teeth in frustration.

It didn't help her mood that the relief supplies hadn't arrived yet. She'd seen the shuttle set down less than a half hour ago, but the supplies had yet to show up. The last unit of blood had just been given to a trooper with a punctured lung, and their reserves of bacta were all but gone. Antibiotics were running low as well, because she'd been giving a dose of it to every patient. Of course, that was only because of the dirt. Regardless, at least half of her patients would soon start developing staph infections from all the exposure to bacteria. She was sure of it.

With a grunt, Goose stood and glanced at the triage area to look for other patients requiring surgery. There were none, and for that she was relieved. There were still a half dozen walking wounded, those with minor injuries, but she trusted the medics to take care of them. At the moment, she had a much more important goal. She was going to track down those supplies, wherever they were, whatever it took.

The first, and most obvious, place she looked was the shuttle itself. However, the craft was completely empty. Not a single crate was in the cargo hold, and there weren't any nearby the shuttle, either. Goose let out a long-suffering sigh, then snagged the nearest trooper and asked him where to find Skywalker. As a general, he would _have_ to know what had happened to her supplies. She soon found out that he was at the observation post, way up on the top floor of the only skyscraper not utterly destroyed from weeks of bombings.

Still, the building had not been completely spared. The exterior walls had been made entirely from transparisteel, and much of it had shattered, so that the ground in and around it was treacherous to walk on. Goose soon found out that the damage was not just superficial. Much to her dismay, it seemed that power lines above the thirty-ninth floor were out, so she'd have to hike up the last seven flights of stairs on foot. By the time she reached the roof, she was just the slightest bit winded and her bad knee ached.

As she pushed open the door, which one of those old-fashioned hinged ones, she heard an oddly high-pitched voice coming from somewhere near the edge of the roof. It was a little shrill, and Goose immediately recognized it as female. That was odd, since she'd though all of the civilians had evacuated before ground troops had landed. However, after being around no one but soldiers for a month, she was ready to see another woman. The voice sounded young as well, as if from a child. As she turned the corner, she was surprised to see a petite Togruta girl, arms crossed, scowling at Skywalker.

"I'm still here, Skyguy," she complained petulantly. "Stop talking about me as if I'm not."

Goose had to stifle a snort of laughter as she watched that tiny girl, hands on hips, stick out her chin defiantly. Who did she think she was, anyway? However, her curiosity was piqued, so she studied her a little more closely. Like most Togruta, this youth's skin was an earthy sienna, and white markings decorated her face. In addition to her diminutive stature, it was easy to tell that she was barely even an adolescent because her headtails, or montrals, had yet to reach maturity. Oddly, she was dressed in a tube top and miniskirt, and Goose thought it to be rather skimpy for a child her age.

All of this left her rather confused. Who was she, and what was she doing here? It wasn't safe, that was for sure. Skywalker didn't seem all too happy with her either, if his clenched jaw was any indication. He looked close to snapping, and it wouldn't come as a surprise to Goose if he did. She almost laughed a second time as she watched his face grow redder with anger. Skyguy. She hoped it stuck.

"What did you call me?" Skywalker demanded hotly, "Look, don't get snippy with me, youngling. You're not even old enough to be a padawan."

Suddenly, it made a little more sense, and Goose finally noticed the lightsaber clipped to her belt, though it didn't look as if it belonged there. She must have come down in the shuttle. But why would he have taken an apprentice? Skywalker certainly didn't seem to be the type that would do something like that, and he hardly looked old enough himself. Besides, it was the middle of a war. Such an immature girl had no place here, especially dressed like that. Her scanty outfit offered no protection from anything the droid army might throw at her, and would do her little good once the temperature dropped at night.

As could have been expected, the supposed padawan didn't react well to the reprimand, and she drew herself up to her full height, though that wasn't saying much. She really was tiny. Goose considered interrupting them there, so that she could ask about the supplies, but decided against it. She'd never seen Skywalker quite so flustered before, and she wanted to enjoy it as much as possible.

"I'm not a _youngling_ ," she protested resentfully. "I'm fourteen."

That time, Goose laughed out loud, but quietly enough that the arguing pair didn't notice it. The other clones on the roof, Rex among them, were studiously looking the other way, but she knew that all of them were watching out of the corners of their eyes, and probably getting a good laugh out of it as well. It seemed that Rex could no longer take it, and he took off his helmet, though somehow he kept a straight face.

"I'm ten," he said, totally deadpan, "but I'm tall for my age."

Goose laughed even harder at that, watching the padawan get completely thrown off by it. A while ago, Jules had told her that clones aged at an accelerated rate. It had disturbed her to know that they were all less than half her age, but it didn't seem to bother the clones themselves, so at this point she just quietly accepted it. Besides, it was amusing to watch her regain her composure. It had been far too long since she'd laughed like this. Thinking it too good of a chance to pass up, Goose jumped in as well.

"And I'm twenty-three." she added impishly, "Do I win?"

The Togruta's face was a study in indignation. Like Rex, Goose tried to keep a straight face, though it was a bit of a struggle. Skywalker did give her a sharp look, but he continued to stand there with silent ire.

"Anyway," the ruffled padawan said hurriedly, before anyone else could interrupt, "Master Yoda thinks I'm old enough."

That seemed to push Skywalker over the edge. In fact, Goose wasn't sure why he'd even put up with it for so long. He was a general, after all, and really couldn't afford to look foolish in front of his men. Not that it mattered to her, of course. As far as she was concerned, this was all just some well-deserved entertainment.

"Master Yoda is light-years away," Skywalker said lowly, though his displeasure was clear. "So if you're ready, you've got to start proving it. Captain Rex here will show you how a little _respect_ can go a long way."

Rex struggled to keep his expression neutral, although he could not stop a grimace from getting through.

"Very good, sir," he replied with slight reluctance, then gestured towards the stairs. "Come on, youngling."

Goose was sure he'd only called her a youngling to rile her up, because she heard her insolently mutter _padawan_ under her breath as she followed after him. No matter how diverting that had been, she was relieved she would finally find those long-awaited supplies. First, however, she felt the need to exploit the moment just a bit more.

"So, what's with the new padawan?" she asked Skywalker slyly.

His eyes flashed with sudden irritation, and she saw his jaw clench once more. For a moment, Goose wondered if she'd pushed a little too far.

"That _kid_ is _not_ my padawan," Skywalker snapped, though it wasn't directed entirely at her. "I'm sending her back to the Temple on the next shuttle off this world."

She decided that she probably wasn't aware of the whole situation, and it was best to just leave it at that. Besides, she still had more important things to worry about.

"Uh…right," she continued after he'd calmed down a bit. "Anyway, where are the medical supplies from the shuttle? They never made it to the first aid station."

At that, he forced out a short, humorless laugh.

"Medical supplies?" Skywalker nearly spat, "There aren't any."

Immediately, Goose was angry. An entire shuttle had been sent down, and they didn't think to pack even a few crates of bacta and blood on it? She knew that the military could be backwards at times, but this was a new level of madness. Men were dying down on the surface, and those nerf herders in the fleet didn't seem to give a skrag.

"Do you mean to tell me," she said coldly, "that they packed that shuttle full of ammunition and troops but didn't bother to add so much as a hypospray?"

"No," he responded with just as much resentment. "I meant that the only thing that came out of the shuttle was my so-called padawan."

Goose could only stare at him with a mixture of shock and confusion. There had been _nothing_ on that shuttle? It was little wonder he was so frustrated with that girl, despite her obvious immaturity. How could they ever hope to win without reinforcements? More importantly, what was she supposed to do? Her own medkit was already nearly depleted, and the rest of the medics were no better off. If the next wave is anything like the last one, she wasn't sure what she was going to do.

"You can't be serious," Goose protested incredulously. "Why didn't they pack supplies onto the shuttle with her?"

Skywalker's expression darkened, and he clenched his fists tighter.

"No one ever received our calls for help," he said dejectedly. "The Sep blockade jammed everything. You and the medics will just have to make do."

Her anger had been building slowly up until then, but at that moment it flared up. At that moment, she doubted he cared about anything beyond fighting the war, but winning was only half the battle. It would be a hollow victory if men who could have been saved died anyway. She wondered if he'd thought about that.

"Make do? I can't just _make do_ ," Goose practically hissed in fury. "I've got my own war to fight, and at this point all I'm armed with is bandages and hyposprays. It isn't enough."

She knew that arguing wouldn't solve anything, but this was just too much. It was as if the Republic didn't give a psadan's patoot whether they lived or died.

"Doctor, I am aware of your situation," Skywalker said stiffly, "but there is nothing any of us can do except sit tight."

Goose took a deep breath to calm herself down. For once, he had a point. She couldn't afford to waste energy over something she couldn't change.

"I will do my best, but I'll be limited by my lack of supplies," she replied at length, once she'd regained her composure. "A pint of blood can mean the difference between life and death for some of these men. I don't know what I'll without any."

Skywalker nodded solemnly. Perhaps he had thought of these things before, after all.

"If there's time, I can authorize you to draw blood from healthy troopers," he offered. "I'm sure plenty will volunteer."

She had considered this idea long ago, and though it had merit, there was no way it could work in this situation.

"No," Goose sighed, shaking her head. "It makes little sense to take blood from the same men who will be receiving it. Besides, it will make them weaker and lightheaded for a while. No one can afford that danger, especially now."

He didn't seem to be listening anymore, however. Skywalker's attention had been turned towards the horizon, where Goose slowly noticed a reddish glow. Not sure what that meant, she could only watch in confusion as he pulled out a pair of macrobinoculars to get a better look. From his devastated expression, it was not good.

"What is it?" she demanded, unable to take it anymore.

Skywalker stayed silent for another few moments that slipped by slowly, a look on his face she could only describe as horrified. Dread welled up in her too, although she hadn't a clue what was scaring him so badly. Were the droids coming back?

"An energy shield," he finally whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "They're marching their troops behind the edge of it, where our heavy cannons can't reach them. They'll be right on top of us before we can target their tanks…"

Goose felt her mouth dry out in fear as she heard those words. The red glow was more distinct now, and she could see the dome of energy as is crept along, though from the top of the building they were on the advancing ranks of droids were only a dark smudge. Already, the some of the clones in the observation post were hurrying down the stairs to prepare for the assault as others urgently asked Skywalker for orders. He started barking out commands, then disappeared down the stairs as well, practically sprinting down the steps.

She didn't hear much of what they said, but the message was clear. If the droids reached the heavy cannons, they were done for. Suddenly, a realization hit like a ton of bricks. There were close to thirty wounded men recovering in the first aid station, and they were directly in the path of the advancing droids. They had to be evacuated. _Now_.


	20. The Battle for Crystal City

#20 The Battle for Crystal City

* * *

Goose ran down the steps two at a time, bad knee aching in protest, nearly tripping several times. Heart racing, she punched the turbolift button, cursing that she hadn't been fast enough to make the last one. She paced restlessly as she waited for the turbolift to come back to her level, glancing nervously out the broken window at the ominous red dome. It was growing slowly but steadily, already engulfing the outskirts of the city. After an impossibly long wait, the doors slid open, and she waited impatiently for it to take her to the ground floor.

Bursting out as soon as the doors reopened, Goose sprinted to the first aid station. Inside, the scene was that of utter chaos. Troopers were running in every direction, doing _what_ she did not know. The wounded lay almost forgotten on the ground as the medics, huddled together in uncertainty, were trying to figure out what to do. It didn't seem like anyone was in charge, and time was running out. She snagged Jules by the elbow as he jogged past, hoping he wasn't doing anything too important.

"Jules, what's going on?" Goose asked a little breathlessly.

"The Seps have an energy shield and are marching the–"

She fought the urge to roll her eyes, instead clenching a fist in frustration.

"Yes, yes, I already know that," Goose said with exasperation. "I meant, what's the plan with the wounded?"

He hesitated just the slightest moment, and she immediately felt her heart skip a beat. There _was_ no plan.

"I– I mean we –" Jules stammered a bit. "We don't…know."

Of course, she'd already started formulating a plan during that interminable turbolift ride. It wasn't much, but it would do.

"That doesn't matter, all we need to do is get these men clear," Goose struggled to keep her growing fear from manifesting in her voice. "Where's the best cover? It has to be somewhere behind the heavy cannons."

"There's a large theater about a block past the cannons," Jules said after a moment, probably checking his HUD's data files. "Relatively solid construction, probably our best bet."

That would have to do. She would have preferred to move them much further away, but there simply wasn't time for that. Besides, if what she'd overheard Skywalker saying in the observation post was true, they were all toast if the droids made it to the cannons, anyway.

"Alright, Jules. We'll have to go for it," Goose sighed. Raising her voice, so that the rest of the medics might hear her, she shouted, "Listen up, everybody. We're going to evac the wounded to a theater building behind the cannons. Move critical patients first, and pack up as much of the supplies as possible, but the wounded have the priority. Jules will lead the way. Let's move!"

The last word had hardly left her lips by the time they'd already started moving, grabbing stretchers off the ground and stuffing supplies back into medkits. Not surprising at all, given how used to taking orders they were. On the flipside, it had been completely bizarre for her to be giving them. It was almost as if she commanded her own tiny regiment. However, a handful of medics would not be enough in the amount of time they had. Goose stopped the next medic who passed by, who just happened to be Coric.

"Go out and grab anyone else you can find," she said hurriedly, "we're going to need all the help we can get."

He nodded quickly, then ran out without another word. Goose scooped up her own medkit and slung it on her back, then bent to help a medic with the other end of a stretcher. Then they raced down the rubble-strewn streets, Jules and his stretcher not far in front of them. She saw troopers setting up defensive positions as she ran past, using debris to barricade the street. It didn't look like it would do them much good, but she was too preoccupied with her own problems to really care. Glancing back, her heart fluttered with fear as she saw how much the energy shield had expanded, looming large on the horizon.

Not long later, they were there. The theater might once have been an opulent opera house, before the war, but now there was only a bomb-scarred façade and dusty velvet that spoke of its former glory. However, compared to the rest of the buildings on that street, it was still in pretty good shape. They ran in, careful of the broken glass, searching for a suitable place to set up shop. The lobby was far too exposed, but they found a massive cocktail lounge that would serve their purposes. After setting down the wounded troopers and checking to see if their injuries had been disturbed during transit, they raced back out.

* * *

Goose would make that trip five times, more and more out of breath as she went, but running just as fast nonetheless. All the while, she cursed that the Republic hadn't bothered to provide medlifters, which could carry up to six wounded men at once. It had taken them just shy of fifteen minutes to pull it off, which meant that the energy shield had crept up to only a few blocks away from the front line.

Tensions rose as the droids advanced, their creaking joints audible in the nervous hush. Not a moment passed when she didn't have to fight the urge to check how close they were getting, even though she already knew. It was bad. Very bad. Satisfied the wounded were stable and safe enough for the time being, Goose numbly left the opera house and headed back toward the square. She wasn't quite sure what she intended to do, but one thing was for certain. There was no chance in the nine Corellian hells that she was going to sit this one through.

It didn't take a military genius to understand that the odds were very much against them, however. In all likelihood, the entire Republic presence on this world would be wiped out in under an hour, with her among them. There wasn't much point in hiding out in a crumbling cocktail lounge when everyone else was out there dying, and you were next. But for some reason, it didn't seem at all real to her. The whole thing felt to her like a practical joke gone horribly wrong. And no one was laughing.

Ahead of her, the heavy cannons suddenly started up, firing volleys of pure energy at the ever-expanding shield. It was a futile gesture, however, and the shots melted off the surface like snow on a radiator. Goose stopped on her tracks as she watched the demoralizing display, that old feeling of despair creeping up inside her once more. Then the cannons stopped just as abruptly as they began, and she felt a small twinge of fear as the last gun fell silent.

Any confidence she might have had fled at that moment, dread filling her heart in its wake. The Republic was backed into a corner, and it would take nothing short of a miracle to get them out of this one. Through the numbness that had settled over her, Goose suddenly realized she'd been just standing there for an awfully long time. She had slowly forced her legs to start moving, footsteps crunching in the debris, when she heard another set of footfalls running up behind her.

"Goose?" a voice called, "Where are you going?"

She knew without having to look that it was Jules. No one else would have sounded quite so worried. It took her a moment to respond since she didn't really have an answer.

"I don't know," Goose said truthfully. "Where are _you_ going?"

He cast a nervous glance at the looming energy shield, which seemed to her to fill the entire horizon.

"I have to rejoin my squad. They can't spare anyone from the fight this time," Jules said a bit regretfully. "You should go back. Things are going to get real hot around here in a few minutes."

Goose wavered as she watched him walk away, her resolve crumbling. Perhaps it would be better if she just hid, after all. Then something else occurred to her.

"Do droids take prisoners?" she asked out of the blue.

"What?" said Jules, taken aback. "No, I don't think so."

His answer made up her mind. Odds were that the droids would kill her anyway.

"Then I want to come with you." Goose said doggedly

"But it's too–" Jules began to protest, seeming shocked.

"Dangerous?" she finished for him softly. "Yeah, I know."

"Then why?" he demanded.

Jules sounded upset, more so than she could remember before. She wished that she could summon up as much emotion as him, because at the moment she wasn't feeling much of anything.

Goose answered flatly, "There isn't much point holing up in a half-destroyed cocktail lounge if I'm going to die anyway."

"You're a doctor, not a soldier," Jules objected, exasperation creeping into his voice. "You wouldn't last two minutes"

Those last few comments triggered an instinctive response in Goose, a sort of knee-jerk reaction she made without hardly thinking about it.

"What do you think I'm going to do, grab a DC-15 and start blasting?" she snapped. Realizing her outburst had been a little harsh, she added with thick sarcasm, "as long as I'm going to die anyway, I may as well go down in a blaze of medical glory. It'll beat getting shot while sitting on my hands."

Jules cocked his head to the side questioningly, but with his helmet on she still couldn't tell what he was feeling.

"A bit selfish, don't you think?" he asked impishly, probably seeing the humor in this pointless exchange.

She couldn't deny that she saw it too. Grand gestures and self-glorifying last words were worthless, and wouldn't stop a blaster bolt no matter how much you brandished them. It surprised her that she'd even bothered with it.

"We're all farkled, anyway," Goose replied irreverently. "On the off chance that there really is an afterlife, at least I'll be able to say I died trying to save someone's life."

Jules sighed after a long pause, "I'm not going to be able to talk you out of this, am I?"

Just then, the ground rocked as rounds from Separatist tanks began to pound the street a few blocks from them. The shield must have reached the front lines while they'd been talking and the fight had started without them.

"Probably, but it looks like we're out of time," she answered hurriedly as she began to run towards the explosions.

"Fine, but don't get too far away from me," he cautioned her as he matched her pace.

Goose shot him a curious look but didn't say anything, preferring to let him figure out what it meant on his own. He seemed to interpret it as a sort of mocking, although it hadn't really been her intention.

"I have a gun, remember?" Jules added defensively, " _I_ can shoot things. _You_ can't."

A wisp of a smile played over her lips, but it vanished as they raced past the heavy cannons on their way to the front. The energy shield crossed over them as they ran, and she felt a slight tingle of electricity as she passed through. Looking up, the sky itself was now an oppressive crimson red. Despite the large plumes of dust and smoke kicked up by the enemy tanks, Goose could clearly see the troopers were abandoning their improvised barricades in the street. It was no wonder, because without cover from the cannons it was all too easy for the droids to overrun them.

"Looks like they're falling back into the buildings to try and lure the droids in," Jules said tensely. "Might level the playing field a bit, but…"

He trailed off, and Goose didn't ask him what he was about to say. Oddly, she still didn't feel scared. She should have, but she didn't. Like he'd said, the droids had split up and were following the retreating clones off the street. The two of them turned into a side alley, the sound of blasterfire growing stronger as they ran towards it. They stopped at the back door of the building the Republic troops had just retreated into, and they could clearly hear the sounds of battle within, but Jules was hesitant to enter.

"Goose, I still don't think this is a good idea," he said uneasily. "It's not too late to go back."

"I know how to keep my head down," she grumbled back.

As if to demonstrate, she crouched down and hunched her shoulders a bit like she'd seen the clones do all the time. Jules shook his head and muttered something unintelligible as he thumbed the door sensor and darted inside, blaster at the ready. Goose followed close behind, and together they scurried from cover to cover in what turned out to be a large indoor shopping mall. It might once have been a sparkling example of the wealth of Christophsis, but now it was in utter ruin.

Signs advertising the latest in Coruscant fashion still decorated the walls, but they were pitted and blackened by blasterfire. Some of the lighting still worked, but it was given off in weird flickering flashed as if the building itself was in its death throes. What before would have been a row of elegant store fronts was now a string of darkened rooms, their glass picture windows shattered, abandoned wares littering the floor like so many dead leaves. At the end of the line of storefronts was a large central plaza where the clones now desperately exchanged fire with the ruthlessly advancing droids.

At first the droids didn't seem to notice them, but as they drew nearer to the fighting more shots came their way. They sought refuge behind a cashier's desk as more blaster bolts whizzed past them. Goose chanced a peek at whatever was shooting at then, and was gripped with fear by what she saw. A super battle droid was bearing down on them, a massive gray durasteel automaton she'd only seen at a distance before. Pure terror lanced through her as she saw that thing lumbering toward them, the first real feeling she'd had in a while.

Her voice stuck in her throat, but Jules seemed to get the message anyway. He calmly unclipped a pulse grenade from his utility belt and lobbed it over the counter at the approaching droid. From the hunks of blasted droid parts that flew past them in the resulting explosion, she assumed he'd gotten it. Meanwhile, Goose was beginning to seriously doubt her decisions. What the flaming frak had she been thinking, running headlong into a mess like this?

Jules had taken up a kneeling position, firing over the top of the counter in stoic silence, at least as far as she could tell. Realizing she hadn't even found a wounded man to treat yet, Goose glanced around for any injured troopers. Since they'd come in the back way, most of their forces were ahead of their location. The only other clone she could see was a lone trooper who had taken cover behind a jewelry display case and was shooting back in a similar stance as Jules.

Even as she watched, an enemy shot broke through the display case and punched into the trooper's gut, peppering him with shrapnel and throwing him backward a meter. Without a second thought, Goose darted out from hiding and ran to the trooper, heedless of the ongoing battle. Jules followed close after, laying down cover fire as he went. She pulled the wounded man into better cover as Jules continued to fire from behind the shattered remains of the showcase.

The trooper was unconscious but still breathing somehow, although he wouldn't be for long. A fist-sized chunk of his armor had either been blasted away or disintegrated upon the blaster bolt's impact. However, the armor seemed to have done nothing to protect him, and the soft flesh encased within was shredded almost beyond recognition. Only her many years of experience kept her hands from quavering as she lifted the warped and darkened plastoid for a better look. Goose bit her lip to contain her dismay as she surveyed the damage. His liver was all but gone, the intestines a chewed up mess, and his spleen was no better than the rest.

Goose froze. There was nothing she could do for him, nothing that would save his life. How he still had a pulse was just a fluke. He would need transplant organs and enough transfusions to replace his entire blood volume, but even then the odds were against him. In a normal triage situation, he would not have been brought past pre-op into the OR. She exhaled shakily, feeling a pang of regret as she started to leave. It was of little comfort to her that she was supposedly doing the right thing by moving on to someone with a better chance of survival.

Just as she was about to rise to her feet again, a massive explosion shook the building and Goose dove to the ground. Chunks of the ceiling rained down on her as she desperately tried to protect her head while shrapnel flew past. When her eyes had recovered from the temporary blindness of the flash, she was shocked to see that the front wall of the shopping mall was just _gone_. The same tanks that must have done the blasting flooded in through the gaping hole they had created.

Around her, the clones were in full retreat. It did not take her long to realize that if she didn't feel like dying, she would have to get moving. This had all been a terrible idea in the first place. Numbness enveloped her once more, and almost unthinkingly Goose began to go back the way they'd come in, silently cursing her shortsighted naïveté. It was only after she'd made it about ten meters before she realized Jules wasn't following her.

"Jules, come on!" she shouted, the tremor in her voice betraying her fear.

He had stopped shooting, and instead was kneeling over the wounded trooper she had just left. Behind him, the Sep tanks and rank upon rank of droids marched at them. What the frip was he thinking?

"What about him?" he called back, an edge to his voice, seemingly unaware that they would be overrun in mere moments.

"Forget him!" Goose all but screamed, wild with panic yet rooted to the spot.

Jules looked up sharply as if with sudden anger, but she couldn't tell for certain. Besides, she was more worried about the tanks. At this point, the only other troopers in the area were the dead.

"He still has a pulse," he said frustratedly. "We can't just leave him!"

"It would take two surgeons with the best equipment in the galaxy at least ten hours to piece him back together," she yelled back at him. "There's nothing I can do. We have to go!"

He shouted back at her, something about never leaving a man behind, but Goose wasn't listening. The droids were almost upon them, and the tanks were no further away. The window for their escape was about to slam shut.

"Jules, you crinking pain in the–" she began to yell, but never had a chance to finish.

An enormous ball of energy thundered out of the turret of an enemy tank, landing less than a meter from his feet and sending him flying through the air until he crashed into a stone pillar with a sickening crunch. Although she was far away from the blast, the force of it threw her backwards into some shelves in the storefront behind her, knocking the breath right out of her. Goose wanted to scream, but only a strangled gasp escaped her empty lungs.


	21. Luck at Last

#21 Luck at Last

* * *

Her chest convulsed as her body fought to bring air back to her lungs. For a terrifying moment it felt as if she would suffocate then and there, but with a raspy, choking cough she finally managed to take a ragged breath. Half-buried in the merchandise she had been thrown on, the droids did not seem to see her as they marched past her storefront. And there were hundreds of them, row upon identical row of them as they marched by with inhuman precision.

Other than having the breath knocked out of her, Goose had escaped injury with little more than bruises and a few superficial cuts.

She was forced to keep absolutely still to avoid the notice of the droids, but inside her mind raced _. Jules_. The one person she could honestly say she liked in this whole damned army, and he was probably dead. The droids had made sure of that. A bitter taste filled her mouth, and it took all her willpower to resist the urge to spit it out. Goose couldn't claim to have known him well, but she would still miss him. If she herself survived, that was.

Goose continued to sit there in paralyzed silence, scarcely breathing for fear of discovery. But the droids continued to be utterly unaware of her and simply marched past with that eerie _chunk-chunk-chunk_ sound. In the distance, she could hear the shots and explosions from the renewed Republic defensive. The Separatists had to be within a block of the heavy cannons by this point, and it would not be long before the Republic's last hope was overrun.

After a few minutes, the sounds of the droids faded away. She should have waited longer, just to be sure, but impatience got the better of her. Bruised back groaning in protest, Goose stood as silently as she could managed and took a few cautious steps forward. Still she heard nothing, no droids left behind to mop up stragglers. It seemed the Separatists had to dedicate all their resources and weren't all that sure of winning either.

Her confidence returning somewhat, Goose looked around and looked for where Jules's body had fallen. She was behind enemy lines now, after all, and understood she had to go while there was still time, but not before she knew for sure. After a few moment of peering through the flickering gloom, she saw him. To her eyes, however, he appeared to be nothing more than a tangle of plastoid-covered limbs.

Her breath caught, and Goose had to swallow hard to get the lump out of her throat. There was no way he could have survived taking a round from a tank point-blank, but Jules had saved her life half a dozen times in the past few weeks, and she owed him at least this much.

As stealthily as she could, she crept over to where Jules lay. His armor looked charred, but he was surprisingly still in one piece. Perhaps, if the damage to his armor was so little… Her heart in her throat, she knelt down beside his still form, hardly daring to hope. Goose reached out tentatively, feeling for the point on his neck that would tell her whether or not he was dead. A thrill of relief ran through her when she felt for his pulse and found it to be quite strong.

Elation flooded her, and it was only her heightened sense of awareness that kept her from laughing out loud. Jules was alive.

"You lucky barve," she whispered to him, although he appeared unconscious. "That should have killed you..."

Hysteria threatened to overwhelm her, heart thudding uncontrollably in her chest. Her whole body trembled as the adrenaline slowly wore off, and to focus herself she checked is pulse again. Still, it beat strongly. Goose was so happy she could have cried.

Still wary of the droids returning, Goose dragged Jules into a nearby perfume shop and tried to assess his injuries. Amazingly, his armor did not appear to have been pierced. The shot must have landed in such a way that it knocked him off his feet but didn't kill him. However, he had hit that pillar with a crunch, and she wouldn't be at all surprised if he had several broken bones. She pulled off his helmet to check for a head wound, but found nothing more serious than a small lump on his temple.

For a man who had just been blasted by a tank, Jules was in remarkably good shape. Goose was even beginning to feel foolish for believing him dead in the first place. She would have to wait until he came to before she could determine which bones were broken, but that was only a small concern of hers. The big issue now was getting out of there alive, now that they were trapped behind enemy lines. Dragging Jules more than a few feet wasn't much of an option, and she couldn't very well carry him either. She'd just have to wait until he regained consciousness.

The minutes crawled by slowly, and Goose became increasingly aware that she would be a sitting nuna if a droid happened to come along. Jules's blaster was nowhere in sight, not that she could use it even if she had it. The only weapon she'd ever handled before shot nothing more lethal than water. With nothing better to do, she stared impatiently at his slack features, hesitant to shake him awake because it risked agitating a yet-unknown injury.

It was only after an interminable amount of time, at least five minutes, that his eyes finally fluttered open. He jerked a bit as if waking from a bad dream, and it took a long moment for a look of recognition to cross his face.

"Goose?" he murmured slowly, with a groan.

"You better believe it," she snorted, although she more relieved than she'd anticipated. "Don't bother sitting up. I'll bet you've got some fractures."

He did as he was told, although he looked like he wanted to get moving. Jules took a deep breath, then winced and made a face.

"What _is_ that smell?" he asked with disgust.

"Huh?" she said at first, not sure what he meant. "Oh, right. We're behind a perfume counter. I guess most of the bottles are shattered."

She'd hardly noticed it in the beginning, but now that he mentioned it the sickeningly sweet combined scent of a dozen different perfumes was almost overpowering.

"Don't you think you could have found somewhere less…pungent?" Jules continued with a grimace.

"I just want to smell pretty," Goose deadpanned, with only a flicker of frustration. Better he be ungrateful than dead.

Jules let out a sharp gasp as she began to probe his side, and she started to suspect it wasn't really the perfume that was bothering him.

"Your ribs?" she asked gently.

"Yeah, but not too bad," he replied with a grunt. "I think my collarbone is busted, though."

Goose almost rolled her eyes in annoyance, although such a gesture felt somewhat absurd given their precarious situation.

"Congratulations, Jules," she sighed, "You managed to break some of the bones in your body most difficult for me to treat."

"I'm sorry to be such an inconvenience," Jules replied through gritted teeth, though his eyes betrayed his mirth.

Her medkit had been lost, since she'd left it behind when she'd started retreating, and it was safe to say it had been disintegrated by the tank. As a result, Goose had very few options when it came to patching Jules up. She fished a packet of gauze out of a cargo pocket in her fatigues, but was unable to find anything to ease his pain.

"This is all I've got," she said regretfully, holding up the gauze. "What do you have left in your medpack?"

"Nothing," he answered with a sigh. "Used it all up a few days ago."

That didn't come as much of a surprise to her, that Jules had used supplies from his personal medpack on his wounded comrades. It seemed like she wouldn't be able to do much for him until they found some help.

"Looks like we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way," Goose said with forced cheerfulness. "Not that I could do anything about that broken clavicle besides put it in a sling anyway."

She helped Jules sit up as carefully as she could, mindful of the pain it caused him. As she wrapped the gauze around his shoulder into a makeshift sling, she caught him looking over to where he had been struck by that shot from the tank. He had been kneeling over that dying trooper when it had happened, and now only a blackened crater remained where the clone's body had been. Goose didn't need to ask him to know what he was thinking. That man had been his brother, whether he had actually known him or not.

"Was there really nothing you could have done to save him?" he asked quietly, after a long silence.

At that moment, it took all the courage she had left to look him in the eyes.

"I didn't ask to stay here just so I could run for it as soon as the going got tough," she said a bit harsher than intended, "and I would never take abandoning a patient lightly. Believe me when I say he was a dead man."

Another long silence ensued, although this one was not nearly as uncomfortable as the one that had preceded it. Just as Goose finished tying off the gauze, she felt rather than heard a low rumble, followed by a soft _boomp_. To the untrained ear, it might have sounded like a particularly flatulent bantha had let out some gas not far away from them. But she knew better. That had been an explosion, and a faraway one at that.

The oddest thing was, the explosion had come from behind, well into Separatist territory. At the moment, Goose couldn't think of what could have possibly caused it, especially since the Republic was supposed to be losing. Jules had noticed it too, and much to her distress he was trying to stand up.

"Hey, at least let me help you up!" she said with exasperation, but he didn't really seem to listen.

"That had to have been the shield generator," Jules muttered distractedly as he staggered to his feet, leaning heavily on Goose.

"What?" she asked incredulously, the thought having never entered her mind. It just didn't seem possible. "Are you sure?"

"There's only one way to find out." He grunted, then started to shuffle towards the door they had entered not long ago.

Her mind screamed that it was a terrible idea, that neither of them was armed, that they'd both be dead if there were droids on the other side of that door. But she brushed those rational thoughts aside, instead giving in to her curiosity. Jules was wheezing slightly by the time they reached the door, and it occurred to her that he had to be in a great deal of pain. But he made no mention of it, and had already thumbed the door sensor before she could say anything.

The sight that confronted her as the door slid open nearly brought a tear to her eye. Only minutes before, the sky had been a deep crimson, as if foretelling the Republic blood to be spilled that day. But now it was blue, albeit a hazy, smoke-filled blue, but blue nonetheless. Goose felt an insane, almost uncontrollable laughter bubble up in her, although it only manifested itself in a small chuckle. The shield was gone. The tide had turned.

And then, as if the trumpets of victory were being blown, a dozen LAAT gunships cruised by overhead, the hum of their engines like music to her ears. Roaring above the sound of the gunships was the boom of the heavy cannons, finally able to target the Separatist tanks. A wide grin split Goose's face, and she continued to smile despite her dry and cracked lips all the way back to the large plaza, where a Republic cruiser had set down and was unloading reinforcements.

Goose could not remember a time in her life when she was any happier, any more relieved, than she was at that moment. It seemed that everything had come together perfectly, and all she had to do was sit back and watch. Subconsciously she ignored the ruin where bodies of troopers from the 501st and 212th battalions lay. Seeing their losses would break her illusion, her desperate hope that all of it was over.

But it wasn't over. All around her were wounded from the battle, some worse off than others, as it always was. With an inaudible sigh she knelt down to start treating the nearest injured trooper, having already forgotten her medkit was lost for good. A moment later she heard a few purposeful steps behind her, and then a cleared throat. Confused, Goose turned her head to see Captain Rex, looking more battered and grimy than ever.

"Doctor Gosling," he said surprisingly softly, "I'm afraid you'll have to give that trooper over to a med droid. The 501st is pulling out."

For a long moment the words didn't make much sense. What did he mean, give her patient over to a med droid? How could they be pulling out, no more than ten minutes after the shooting stopped? Where could they possibly be going? Before she could ask any of those questions, a med droid had appeared seemingly out of nowhere and was loading the wounded clone onto a medlifter. She blinked at it incredulously until she realized it must have come off the cruiser along with all the other reinforcements.

She stood up slowly, noticing for the first time the multitudes of med droids moving around, helping the injured. So too did she spot several HNE droidcams, although she saw no reporters. Perhaps it was just the exhaustion, but it seemed odd that she could miss so much. Suddenly too tired for words, Goose followed like a ghost as Rex and Jules boarded a gunship already full of 501st troopers. A minute later, the craft took off and flew out high into the atmosphere.

* * *

A/N: I'm so sorry about the slow updates, but AP tests are coming up, and I've been swamped. I'll try to post a little more regularly soon, though. Please review!


	22. Calm Before the Storm

#22 Calm before the Storm

* * *

Goose knew from the moment she stepped out of the gunship that she wasn't about to get any rest. The Resolute's hanger bay was filled by a flurry of commotion, with walkers being inspected and ammunition moved and loaded. It seemed that they were preparing for another battle, off again before the fires of the last battle had been extinguished. She hadn't the slightest clue what role she was to play in this, and didn't want to find out for as long as she could avoid it.

Blending in to the crowd of clones as best she could, Goose followed the current of walking wounded toward the medbay. Her thoughts were bleary, as if she had finally let go after the danger passed, and was now content to drift along. However, she wouldn't be of any use in this frame of mind, so when the group reached the medbay she did not begin to treat them, and instead left them to the capable med droids.

In all honesty, Goose was so worn out it was probably for the best that the med droids handled this, even though she normally would have insisted on doing it all herself. While the wounded waited their turn in pre-op, she continued on to the small on-call room adjacent to post-op. Her initial examination of it weeks ago had revealed only a cot, but she had a hunch that she hadn't looked hard enough.

After a moment of fumbling for a switch, her fingers found the sensor that triggered a wall panel to slide back. Before her was a sleep cycler pod, a sort of delta-wave inducer that gave its user five full REM cycles in only about twenty minutes. These devices were fairly common around hospitals, and were the main reason Goose had been able survive her grueling internship at Galactic Polysapient. A quick nap in one of these would hopefully give her the fuel she needed to last the rest of the day.

She set the machine for a standard cycle, then stepped into the claustrophobic pod and slid the door shut. While a sleep cycler did have its advantages, it was still no replacement for real sleep. Nonetheless, given the opportunity, Goose might have traded her soul for one back on Christophsis. When she emerged twenty minutes later, she was only marginally less tired than when she had entered and still ached all over. However, her head was much clearer, and she had to count that as a win.

It took Goose a while to notice it, but the gentle vibration of the deck was unmistakable. The ship was in hyperspace, although for how long she had no way of knowing. One thing was for certain– the ship was in a hurry. Although she should have been more concerned about the destination they were speeding towards, her mind was occupied with something else entirely. She'd be getting a new comlink today, even if it killed her.

Stretching her arms as she went, Goose walked out into post-op and was mildly surprised to see the med droids had already finished with the wounded. They were efficient, she had to give them credit for that. It took her a few tries to locate Jules among the many identical patients, but she found him eventually. He'd been given a new sling and quite a lot of pain medication, if his glassy eyes and loose expression were any indication.

"How you holding up?" she asked quietly, mindful of disturbing the other patients.

"Hm? Oh, fine…" Jules murmured, as if half asleep. "Did you need something…?"

Goose realized he was pretty out of it, but couldn't think of anyone else to ask for help. She pulled that ever-aggravating comlink out of her ear and placed it on his small side table.

"I know you went to a lot of trouble to find this for me, but I just can't get it to work," Goose said a bit self-consciously. "Do you know where I can get another one? Wrist mounted, preferably."

"Okay…" he replied, sounding vaguely disappointed. "Well, there might be some in the storeroom. Have you checked there yet?"

Sighing, Goose mentally kicked herself for missing something so obvious. Perhaps five rushed REM cycles weren't quite enough to get her functioning, after all.

"Thanks, Jules," she said somewhat sheepishly.

After a few minutes of rummaging around in the medbay's storeroom, she came across a box of field comlinks, none of them out of their original packaging. Despite their utilitarian and frankly inelegant design, Goose was nonetheless satisfied because they were wrist-mounted. She only paused to fiddle with the settings for a moment, then left the medbay to accomplish the next most pressing thing on her mind– taking a shower.

Walking quickly in an effort to avoid being dragged into the general hustle and bustle in the corridors, Goose made her way towards her quarters. She surprised even herself that she was able to find it after so many weeks away, and was pleased that none of her things had been disturbed. On the ground was her old duffel bag, right where she had left it, crumpled laundry in a pile next to it. The bunk bed remained, although she hoped she would never have to share the room. It was small enough with just herself.

However, what captured her interest the most was the 'fresher. Goose had spent the better part of the last week covered in ever-growing layers of dust, dirt, blood, and grime, and now it was time to wash it all off. Her uniform was no better off, having accumulated its own rips and stains, and she wasn't sure if she'd ever be able to wear it again. That didn't dampen her spirits, though, as she savored her first few moments under the hot spray.

Goose had to lather up three times to feel clean, and she kept scrubbing until the water going into the drain was no longer a dingy gray. No matter how much she would've preferred to waste all the hot water on the ship, she didn't linger too long. There was still a war to win, whether she felt like it or not. She toweled off regretfully, but was inordinately relieved to be wearing a clean uniform, at long last. For the first time in a while, she felt human again.

Her boots were still a scuffed and dirty mess, but she laced them on without a second thought and strode on out of her quarters, new comlink strapped to her wrist. It was easy to once again be swept up in the tide of troopers headed toward the hanger bay. Once there, she had little idea what to do, even though all around her the troopers seemed to be working diligently without any outside instruction. If anything, the activity had increased since she'd come aboard.

Among the crowd she spotted two familiar faces – Skywalker and Rex – and decided to get them to fill her in. It was true that she had more or less purposefully avoided it up until then, but now it was time to find out. The two of them were standing near the back of a group of clones who, unlike most others in the hanger, were just sitting around. As she drew nearer, Goose saw that they were listening to Skywalker's new padawan relating the story of her escapades on Christophsis.

"How did you ever get the shield down?" an interested trooper asked. "I heard there were a lot of droids."

"Okay, so there was a wall behind him, with a hole in the middle," she said suspensefully, a smile creeping into her voice, hands gesturing excitedly "then I pull the wall down on top of the droids, destroying them, and saving the General!"

She and Skywalker must have been the ones to take down the shield generator then, probably saving all of their lives in the process, not just Skywalker's. The relaxed troopers all chuckled, and a self-satisfied grin spread over the young Togruta's face. Goose glimpsed Skywalker's half-livid, half-proud expression and found it impossible to contain a laugh herself.

"Is that true, sir?" Rex asked after a moment, while still smiling, unable to suppress his amusement even in front of the General.

"Well…most of it," Skywalker was forced to admit, although a grin tugged at his lips as well.

It was good to have something to laugh about after so much drudgery. Goose hoped it would last.

"Alright, men, we've still got a job to do," Skywalker added authoritatively, once the mirth had died down.

"Yes sir," said Rex, then he raised his voice to the group, "You heard the General. Move it!"

With that, the small crowd dispersed to their many tasks and Skywalker immediately moved to intercept his talkative padawan before she could slip away. Sensing that it would be best to let them have their conversation in private, Rex had drifted a few discreet paces behind, although still within easy reach of the general. Seeing her chance to talk to him, Goose took a deep breath and sidled up next to him.

"So, where are we going?" she asked as casually as she could manage.

Little to her surprise, Rex wasn't particularly delighted to see her. Then again, he never did seem to be particularly delighted about much of anything.

"I see you finally decided to show up," he replied without answering her.

"You're not the only one who's been busy," Goose grumbled back. "Would you rather I left?"

"No. In fact, you play a key role in our next mission." Rex gave an enigmatic smile, then began to key up something on his datapad.

Suddenly suspicious, Goose tried to glance at it discreetly, but to no avail. She really didn't like how he'd said _key role_. It occurred to her that he could just be messing with her, but Rex really didn't seem the type. However, what kind of a key role was a noncombatant supposed to play?

"What exactly _is_ this mission?" she demanded doubtfully.

He waited a beat, then said with a total lack of enthusiasm, "Jabba the Hutt's son has been kidnapped, and we're going to rescue him."

Goose had never encountered a Hutt before, but she knew them by reputation. The big, ugly, slug-like aliens were best known as spice dealers, slave traders, and the masters of crime dens across the galaxy. Why the Republic was getting involved with _them_ , she had no idea.

"Jabba the Hutt?" she blurted, "I've never heard of him."

Rex replied with no small degree of disgust, "Some outer-rim crime boss on Tatooine. His own bounty hunters came back dead, so now _we're_ going in."

That struck Goose as incredibly odd. It was unfortunate that the Hutt's kid had been taken, but that shouldn't be important enough for the Republic to divert this much of its resources.

"Why?" she asked, skeptical. "I was under the impression the Republic didn't like criminals."

"If we don't do it, then the Seps will," Res answered bitterly, "and access to the hyperspace lanes through Hutt Space is at stake."

It suddenly all began to make sense. None of this was about the Hutt kid, it was really just a power grab. Exclusive use of Hutt Space could mean the difference for the Republic in terms of regaining control of the outer-rim. It was a golden opportunity, militarily speaking. However, Goose was still wary of this so-called _key role_ she had.

"Alright, but what does any of this have to do with me?" she asked cautiously.

"Comlink-relay records show that the captor's ship logged into the Galactic All-Species Self-Help Medical Database shortly after departing Tatooine," Rex explained. "The only file accessed by that ship was on Hutt childhood illnesses."

Goose narrowed her eyes at him even as her trepidation grew. Despite what Rex seemed to think was a clear line of reasoning, she was utterly lost. What did the GASSH Medical Database have to do with her?

"I still don't follow." she said flatly, "Where exactly do _I_ fit in to this?"

"Think about it this way." Rex replied with an edge of exasperation. "Why would the kidnappers download a file on Hutt diseases unless their hostage was sick?"

Once more, clarity struck. The Republic thought whoever nabbed the Hutt thought the Hutt was ill, and they were dragging her along to treat it. However, this was a realization that did not please her in the least.

"I think I see what you're getting at, but I'm the right one for the job," Goose said slowly, hoping her voice would remain even. "My medical license is for humanoid species _only_ , so I wouldn't be at all qualified to treat a Hutt. They're gastropods!"

Rex smiled wryly at her distress and handed her the datapad, which had the GASSH file on Hutts already loaded onto it.

"Then I suggest you study up, because you're the only organic doctor the Republic has for lightyears," he said a little smugly, "and there's no way I'm taking a med droid into combat."

She held the datapad numbly in her hands. It was out of the frying pan and into the fire, it seemed.

"And if I refuse?" Goose asked only half-jokingly.

Rex's expression became immediately unreadable, his tone neutral. "I hear the view of the guardroom from brig is real nice this time of year."

Goose sighed in defeat, "Then it seems like I'll be delighted to go. When are we leaving?"

"Dust-off in thirty," Rex replied, all business. "Make sure you're ready by then."

He then strode off purposefully, leaving Goose muttering unsavory comments under her breath at his receding back. She did not at all like the sound of this plan, especially since she hadn't heard any details about it. There was no telling what she could expect, but she was almost certain it would include a shootout of some kind, not something she was looking forward to. However, what almost concerned her more was that they expected her to treat a Hutt.

As a doctor, she was bound by oath to heal any being in need of medical aid, despite their species or role in society. It made no difference to her that the Hutt was the child of a criminal, and it wouldn't have mattered too much if he was a criminal himself. What worried her was that she was totally unfamiliar with Hutt physiology, and half an hour was hardly enough time to become an authority on the subject. This was war, after all, and the stakes were incredibly high. She doubted the Republic's army brass would be very forgiving if she slipped up.

She heaved another sigh, then skimmed the datapad as she made her way back to the medbay for supplies. The file was dishearteningly short, with precious little information on what diseases they were prone to or the symptoms they usually showed. A footnote added that not much is known about Hutts because they generally refuse to be studied, although it did mention that Hutts rarely ever took ill. That encouraged her somewhat, although there was almost no data on how common medicines affected Hutts or in what dosages.

It seemed likely that even if Goose did manage to diagnose the ailing Hutt, she wouldn't be able to administer anything for fear of overdosing.

Letting out an annoyed huff at the lack of data, Goose entered the medbay and immediately pulled up the files of species biologically similar to Hutts. It was dodgy at best, but using statistics gleaned from numerous other gastropodal species might allow her to extrapolate dosages. None of the species she researched were familiar to her, but their files were promising, being significantly longer and far more detailed.

After fifteen minutes of fruitless cross-referencing, she finally decided to give up. Even though the various species were alike biologically, they also had wide-ranging differences, and there was no way their information could be applied to Hutts. It was like saying the amount of chloroform it took to sedate a twi'lek would do the same for a Wookie just because they were both humanoid. While the twi'lek would fall in unconscious pile on the ground, the Wookie would probably just sneeze and then become very, very angry.

Despite her belief that they would be of little use to her, she downloaded all the files she'd looked at onto datapad, then started gathering up the few medications the Hutt file had mentioned. Goose then found a new pre-packed medkit in the storeroom and stowed all the medicine inside it, pausing for a moment to mourn the loss of her old medkit on Christophsis. She would miss her robe, which she had been planning on keeping regardless of the blood that had gotten on it that night in the shower. It, along with her pajamas, had been the last remnants of her civilian life.

But it made no difference now, because all of it had been vaporized by a Separatist tank, and she was happy not to have suffered the same fate. Suddenly remembering something, Goose slung the medkit onto her back and walked quickly to her quarters, mindful that she would have to be in the hanger in a few minutes. From the filthy fatigues she had been wearing only an hour before she pulled out the small flask she'd carried around in her back pocket the past three weeks.

It seemed like a much longer time than that, and she'd been tempted to take a sip on more than one occasion. Goose had stayed true to her silent oath, however, and was still saving it for a suitable certain-death moment to drink the whiskey inside. She turned it over in her hand a few times, happy that it hadn't gotten too scratched up in spite of the heavy fighting, then slipped it into the back pocket of her new fatigues.

Goose sighed for the umpteenth time that day, then left her quarters and started back toward the hanger. It was hard to believe that only over an hour ago she'd been in a battle, fearing for her life, certain that the inside of a crumbling Christophsis shopping mall was the last thing she'd ever see. However, it was even harder to believe that she about to go to another planet and do it all over again. For the purpose of her continued sanity, she forcefully pushed the thought aside and tried to distract herself.

To that end, she took out the datapad and began to reread the Hutt file as she walked, although she knew it was futile. By the time she'd made it into the hanger bay, Goose was busy scrutinizing a frustratingly incomplete diagram of Hutt anatomy and had long ago ceased paying attention to her surroundings. It was for this reason that she nearly tripped over Skywalker's padawan while absentmindedly plodding past a row of gunships.

"Sorry about that," she blurted automatically, after she managed to regain her balance.

The short Togruta girl stared up at Goose sharply, eyes narrowed as if looking for guilt. It occurred to her that the young jedi might remember her from the observation post back on Christophsis and become angry, perceiving another joke at her expense. A flicker of recognition did cross her face, although her expression had turned somewhat embarrassed.

"No harm done," she replied guardedly, no doubt remembering her earlier childish outburst, then offered a clumsy salute.

Goose fought the urge to smile at the awkward yet earnest attempt the kid was making at being military. Given some time, though, and she might get to be good at it.

"Just a tip, but the lower ranks are generally supposed to salute first," Goose whispered conspiratorially so no passersby would hear, meanwhile making no move whatsoever to salute back. Realizing her mistake, the padawan's cheeks flushed with both mortification and indignation while she struggled to form a suitable retort. "And I don't believe we've been properly introduced," Goose added quickly, hoping to assuage her temper.

For a flustered moment the young jedi did not respond, but must have realized that Goose hadn't meant any harm. " _Commander_ Ahsoka Tano," she replied solemnly.

Again, she had to suppress a grin at the padawan's seriousness. Titles really did matter to her, didn't they?

"Doctor Gosling, Chief of Surgery aboard the Resolute," she said smoothly, with a polite nod. That was a bit of a lie since she'd never actually been appointed Chief Surgeon, although it was only stretching the truth a little because she was also the only organic surgeon on board. Besides, a fancy title like that might just be enough to impress the impetuous padawan. "Call me Goose."

Ahsoka looked as if she was about to say something, but just then Skywalker called to her from across the hanger bay. Panic registered on her face for a brief moment, but she quickly composed herself, muttered a goodbye, and darted off toward her master. Bemusedly, Goose watched her jog away, then shrugged to herself. That had certainly been an unusual conversation.

Seeing troopers begin to board the gunships, Goose decided she should probably follow suit. Before she could step aboard, however, a trooper she didn't recognize materialized by her side and told her Rex wanted her to ride down in a walker, where she would be safer. It was more likely he just didn't want her underfoot during the ground assault, and that was fine with her. Safe was good thing.

With one last forlorn sigh, Goose gave up on Hutts and tucked the datapad in her pack. Then she wandered up to the AT-TE walker the trooper had pointed out to her and took a tentative step in. She'd never seen the inside of a walker before, but given that there weren't any empty seats in the compartment in front of her, it was already full. Taking a look back out at the hanger deck, she saw that most troopers had already boarded their landing craft, and the other walker was sealing up its hatch.

It seemed she had no other option. Goose shuffled down the narrow aisle between the two rows of seated troopers, and settled down on the durasteel steps leading from the troop compartment to the cockpit. She wondered if it was against regulations to sit in a walkway, but as she looked around the cramped space none of the troopers raised any objections. In fact, no clone had given her more than a curious glance since she'd stepped aboard.

The atmosphere was a bit eerie on board the walker, the only sounds she heard were the occasional beeps from the craft's electronics and the clack of plastoid from the troopers' armor as they shifted in their seats. Nobody spoke, although after a few minutes it occurred to Goose that they were probably talking to each other on their helmet comlinks, excluding her entirely. It was then that it finally struck her that she was going into battle once again.

As she sat there in that darkened metal compartment, the haze she'd been walking through since leaving Christophsis slowly lifted, and a sharp feeling of fear plagued her once more. A chill settled over her as the main hatch hissed shut, and she felt her mouth start to go dry. As a landing ship slowly clamped onto the walker's armored hull to carry them down to the planet's surface, Goose couldn't shake the feeling that the quiet troopers sitting around her were so much like nerfs lining up peacefully for the slaughter.

* * *

A/N: It's hard to believe, but this is this story's one year anniversary! Equally hard to believe is that 64k words later we've only just gotten off Christophsis! *sigh* I'll write more once school gets out, I promise.

Please review!


	23. It's Going to be a Bumpy Ride

#23 It's Going to be a Bumpy Ride

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Goose's heart fluttered as the walker lifted off the hanger deck. Reflexively, she gripped the durasteel steps that served as her seat tighter as the craft angled downward and descended toward the planet below. There were no viewports in the troop compartment for her to see out of, so she could only guess as to how fast they were flying and how close they were to their target. It occurred to her that she didn't know what planet this was, let alone the battle plan.

Her stomach had only just begun to settle when the ship began to veer left and right erratically, making her lose her balance. It was only one she started hearing shells exploding around them that Goose realized the pilot was zigzagging to avoid anti-aircraft fire. If the troopers were afraid of being shot down, they didn't show it. In the dim, reddish lighting, they sat silently in neat rows of seats, blasters balanced between their knees.

The deck suddenly canted steeply sideways, slamming Goose's shoulder into a bulkhead none too gently. She glowered at the offending wall, but all thoughts of hurling a few choice insults at it fled from her mind when the resounding _khoom!_ of an enemy shell erupted off the starboard side of the ship. Instinctively, she squeezed her eyes shut as the whole craft shuddered with a metallic groan, her heart pounding rapidly in her chest.

Warning klaxons began to sound off, and when Goose cracked an eyelid she saw that a few clones had started shifting in their seats and turning their heads warily. She whispered a quick prayer to whatever deity inhabited this world, asking that if she died, she at least not see it coming. The deck continued to rock dangerously, and for a long, horrifying moment she was utterly convinced the ship was going down.

After an interminable amount of time, the pilot of the landing craft regained control of the ship, setting it back on an even keel, although it continued to weave through the air unpredictably. Her teeth were clenched and her grip remained tight on her improvised seat even as she let out a tentative sigh of relief. Goose tried to emulate the troopers in the compartment with her in their outward calm, but her heart still hammered uncontrollably as the adrenaline refused to abate. That had been far too close

The remainder of the flight became progressively rougher, and towards the end Goose could hear what sounded like tree branches scraping against the bottom of the walker. She nearly whooped with joy when the walker finally set down heavily on the planet's surface and the landing ship released its docking clamps from the walker's hull. Her enthusiasm died a little when a voice, probably that of the departing transport ship pilot, crackled over the walker's comm system.

"Welcome to Teth, rock-jumpers!" he said just a little too cheerily.

Teth. Goose supposed that was this planet's name, and briefly thought it was odd this was the first time she was hearing it. Then she was once more distracted as the walker's servomotors whirred to life and the massive vehicle began to heave forward. She could hear the sounds of battle coming from outside, a myriad of explosions and the distinctive echo of blasterfire, but she had no way of knowing what was going on out there.

Then the walker's main cannon began to fire off loud, booming shots at whatever enemy target Goose couldn't see, almost drowning out all other sounds of the fighting. She almost didn't even want to know.

Soon after they landed, Goose had started to hear a peculiar clanging noise, and it took her a minute to realize it was the sound of enemy fire striking the walker's armor. Her stomach did a little somersault as she wavered between being glad the armor plating was thick enough to withstand the plasma and panicking that she was sitting inside of a very big, very slow-moving target. As always, the troopers in the compartment didn't seem to notice, and the walker moved onward with a steady cadence.

After what felt like an eternity of hearing muffled shouts and heart-stopping thuds against the hull, the AT-TE finally ground to a halt. Blaster bolts no longer hit the walker, so Goose assumed they had come under some sort of cover, because the servomotors had quieted down and she could clearly make out the continued exchange of blasterfire. She relaxed her death grip on the metal beneath her, having lost feeling in her fingers a few minutes ago.

A dishearteningly brief respite followed, then the AT-TE lurched back into motion. However, Goose was startled to find out that the walker was going _up_ , not forward. The front segment of the walker bent upwards nearly ninety degrees, and she could hear walker's toe clamps sink into stone. Much to her growing unease, there was no artificial gravity in the troop compartment, and if she didn't find something to hold on to soon she was going to slide all the way down the aisle until she hit the rear hatch.

Seeing no other option, Goose climbed the narrow steps up into the cockpit, and got her first glimpse of Teth through the transparisteel canopy. The walker seemed to be scaling a near-vertical cliff, a sea of stone filling the view, framed above by a strip of hazy, purplish sky. In the periphery of her vision, she saw another AT-TE making the same dangerous ascent hers was, only about ten meters away.

What really had her attention, though, was the flurry of red enemy blaster bolts streaking down the cliff side at them, and the rocky crags offered virtually no cover whatsoever. Long vines grew along the cliff face, and she was startled to see clone troopers scattered among them, climbing up the precipice with the aid of their blasters' ascension cables. Goose gasped as a shot struck a nearby trooper in the chest, sending him plummeting to the ground like a rock, while his blaster twisted crazily in the air, ascension cable still attached to the ledge far above.

"This is karking insane," she whispered dazedly.

By then, the walker had made it a couple dozen feet up the cliff, and gravity was beginning to assert itself. Goose could feel herself starting to slip now that they were nearly vertical, and had to wedge her body into the small space behind the pilot to avoid falling nearly forty feet to the other end of the walker. From this vantage point, she could see just how hard it was to control the walker as it struggled up the steep rock wall.

An AT-TE was clearly not designed for this kind of climbing, and Goose cringed as she heard gears grinding as the pilot grappled with the steering yoke. If the driver had even noticed her squeezing in behind him, he was far too busy to care. Both enemy and Republic blasterfire flew back and forth through the air, creating a frenzy of light, sound, and flying dust and debris all around them. Throughout all of this, the walker kept up the uncomfortably fast pace of nearly 40 kilometers per hour.

Disbelief had settled over her as she watched the Republic forces perform this suicidal ascent, and it almost didn't occur to her that she was _with_ them, and inside one of the biggest targets. It felt almost as if she was observing it from far away, as if it was all just a wild scene from an action holovid, and no one was in any real danger. This illusion was shattered, however, when the AT-TE next to hers was shot off the cliff.

Goose felt the shock wave from the enemy blast as it blew off the front of the walker, and she could only watch, transfixed, as it reared backward almost in slow motion and tumbled down the cliff, metal hull screeching as it plowed across stone. She tried to look away from the flaming wreck as it fell past her but couldn't, her heart in her mouth and palms suddenly slick with sweat. At least thirty men were aboard her walker; that meant an equal number had just died, because there was no way anyone could have survived the hundred foot fall.

When she finally managed to tear her eyes from the horror outside, Goose found that she'd started shivering almost uncontrollably even though the cockpit was growing uncomfortably warm from proximity to the walker's front laser turrets. She nearly jumped out of her skin when something landed with a thud on top of the cockpit's canopy, and she jerked her head up to see it was only Skywalker's new padawan.

Ahsoka stood on the transparisteel above them, green lightsaber drawn, batting away enemy blaster bolts that streaked down at the walker. After a moment, though, it was clear that the AT-TE pilot was having some trouble steering with the padawan in the way. Goose forgot her fear for a moment and gave an exasperated sigh. There was no way the driver could operate the walker if all he could see was up her skirt.

"Whose laserbrained idea was this, anyway?" Goose grumbled, although the only answer she received was a distracted grunt from the pilot.

Suddenly, the padawan shifted her attention to the left, and Goose followed her gaze to see a squadron of droid STAP fighters bearing down on the walker. She recognized them from the last few days of fighting on Christophsis, and it stopped her cold. Were they fighting the Separatists? Rex had made it sound like mercenaries or some other criminal scum had kidnapped the Hutt, but judging by the ferocity of this onslaught, she thought that to be unlikely in the extreme.

That train of thought was chased from her mind as the STAPs strafed the cliff face, and Goose saw white blurs plummeting in their wake. Before she realized what was happening, the STAPs were attacking the walker, and one of them blasted away a chunk of the cliff the walker's front foot had been grabbed onto, causing the leg's toe clamps to lose their grasp on the rock. Then the walker's other front foot lost its hold as well, and the whole AT-TE began to tip backward.

Terror gripped her, and Goose could only watch in speechless fear as the walker's legs struggled to regain purchase on the cliff, all the while horrified that they were going to end up exactly like the other AT-TE. She could only look on helplessly as Ahsoka was thrown off the cockpit, and adrenaline coursed through her as Goose herself was almost sent flying out of her makeshift seat. Through an enormous effort and after what seemed like hours, the pilot finally managed to anchor the walker's feet back in the cliff side.

Before she could feel any relief, however, another enemy shot exploded against the walker's left side, causing the unsteady craft to shudder and let out a metallic groan. The armor plating held, but one of the cockpit's consoles blew a fuse, and Goose could smell the acrid smoke of burning circuits as the overstretched pilot fought to control the walker. She was vaguely aware of Skywalker as he landed briefly on top of the cockpit before jumping off again, although she was much more preoccupied with putting out the small electrical fire.

After fumbling with the latch on the emergency locker beside her, she pulled out a cylinder of flame retardant and passed it to the pilot, who sprayed it carefully over his console and extinguished the fire. Goose swallowed shakily and let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding when the driver handed the flame retardant back to her with a thankful nod. Then, just as the pilot was trying to get the walker moving again, Ahsoka showed up again on top of the cockpit.

"Get this thing moving!" she shouted, banging a small fist against the transparisteel canopy.

While she was glad the padawan hadn't died, Goose felt a prickle of ire at the young Togruta's impatience. The pilot was doing the best he could, considering the extraordinary circumstances. In a moment, the AT-TE was climbing again, and she could see Skywalker zooming past, riding on a commandeered STAP, and clearing a path up the cliff. Ahead, she started to make out a platform, and realized they had almost reached the top.

She saw Ahsoka shifting around impatiently on top of the cockpit as the walker drew closer to the summit. Some troopers had already finished the climb, and Goose could see plumes of smoke and flying metal debris from the fight above them. Just as AT-TE began to make it over the lip of the platform, the padawan clambered off the cockpit and onto the walker's back, and soon after, the walker reached level ground.

In front of her, Goose could see a scattering of troopers fighting battle droids in a wide courtyard, and in the middle of them was Skywalker swinging his lightsaber, at the moment dismembering an unfortunate super battle droid. Suddenly, three droidekas rolled out and powered up their energy shields. Her breath caught in her throat as she watched Skywalker freeze up. Then, to her surprise, a massive blob of blue plasma thundered out of the walker's main cannon, obliterating the three destroyer droids.

Skywalker turned around, chest heaving, a slow grin spreading over his face. Then Goose saw Ahsoka hop down from on top of the walker, and realized she was probably responsible for the shot. With that, the sounds of battle faded away and were replaced by an almost unnerving silence. The AT-TE pilot guided the walker to a defensive position in the middle of the courtyard, then powered it down and lowered the boarding ramp.

Realizing that her wild ride was finally over, Goose let out a very long sigh of relief, and paused for a moment to slow down her still-hammering heart. With the adrenaline wearing off, her fingers were starting to feel tingly, although thankfully the uncontrollable shaking had stopped. She dislodged herself from her spot behind the pilot's seat, and before she started to head out through the troop compartment, clapped the pilot on the shoulder.

"Thanks for the ride," she said with genuine sincerity.

He replied with a nod. "Ma'am."

Goose dropped down into the troop compartment, and found that all the men had already disembarked. She strode purposefully down the deserted aisle, glad to have the blood moving in her legs again, and walked out the open hatch. Immediately, she was taken aback by the hot, moist, tree-smelling air and the oppressively overcast sky. Taking a quick look around, she saw that they now stood at the door of a monastery on sizable plateau surrounded on all sides by a dense, leafy jungle.

From the first moment of entering this planet's atmosphere Goose had decided she didn't like this place, but stepping outside had lowered her opinion of Teth even more. It stank of smoke and death and the overwhelming humidity left her skin feeling sticky. But that hardly mattered, because there were plenty of injured troopers to take care of after that senseless slaughter. She rushed over to where the wounded had gathered, and found that most of them had only minor or superficial wounds.

Initially that was encouraging, because it meant there would be no need for surgery; then Goose looked around, and saw that there were dishearteningly few troopers milling around the courtyard. In fact, she counted barely half of the full company, and for moment could not believe they had lost so many men on the ascent. It seemed anyone wounded too badly to hold on had fallen to their deaths, and she had to fight a sudden wave of anger. All of this was for one lowlife _Hutt_. It hardly seemed worth the price of so many lives.

With Coric's help, Goose managed to patch all the wounded relatively quickly. Meanwhile, the jedi and remaining troopers had been securing the plateau and preparing to enter the monastery. None of the troopers were injured too seriously, but she wanted to get them to a medbay as soon as possible all the same. Noticing Rex passing by, she stood and jogged to catch up with him.

"Rex," she called, and he turned to face her. "Those guys need a medevac. Do you think you can call in a gunship?"

He nodded, then pressed his fingers to the side of his helmet the way he always did when he was on the comm.

"Gunship is on its way," he replied a few moments later, a twinge of anguish in his voice. "Should be no more than twenty minutes."

"Thanks, Rex," Goose sighed tiredly. Exhaustion was catching up to her again, and she hoped this would not take much longer. Rex seemed worn out as well, and she could only imagine how he was feeling after almost a half of his men were killed in one fell swoop.

He gestured to the monastery. "We're ready to start looking for the Hutt. This is where you come in, Doctor."

"Okay," she said reluctantly, and followed him toward the main doors. The ground was strewn with the blasted remnants of battle droids, and the paving stones were slick with machine oil and hydraulic fluids mingling with patches of blood. Goose asked slowly, "These were Seps, right? Not mercenaries."

"Yeah," Rex answered bitterly, "it's got Dooku's fingerprints all over it."

The name Dooku sounded familiar, but Goose couldn't recall where she's heard it before. She never had the chance to ask, either, because they'd arrived in front of the massive armored monastery door. Gathered around it were the two jedi and a squad of troopers, and they waited as a clone worked on disengaging the lock. Coric jogged up to join them, taking a defensive position next to her. She wouldn't have been surprised if Rex had asked him to keep an eye on her.

They stood in tense silence as the door opened upward with an ominous rumble reminiscent of a bantha's gut, and the cool air that escaped carried a cloying scent of decay. The group edged in cautiously, and it suddenly occurred to her that they had absolutely no idea what they were getting themselves into. Inside the monastery it was inky black, and the dim light from outside reached no more than a few feet past the door.

As they moved in, sweeping their blasters over every dark corner, the troopers also turned on their helmet spot lamps, and Goose could make out the big entryway with better detail. Mildew and creepers grew on the damp walls, although it was still too dark to see into the deep shadows that she supposed were alcoves cut into the stone. She wasn't sure, but she could have sworn she saw something skitter away when some light passed over it.

"I don't like this place," Coric muttered, "It gives me the creeps."

Goose agreed wholeheartedly and considered asking to wait by the door, but decided to suck it up and ignore the chill that ran down her spine. She knew it was only natural, but this place gave her a very bad feeling.

"Anything that moves that isn't a Hutt, shoot it." Rex said from ahead. "No chances."

"Really?" Goose muttered to herself, "That seems a little harsh."

It hadn't been her intention for anyone to hear that, but it seemed Coric had anyway.

"Not too harsh at all, Goose," he said with an edge to his voice. "In hostage extraction you don't have the luxury of checking IDs, because if you don't shoot them they'll shoot you."

She shot him a sidelong glance. "So…if my elderly grandma happened to appear at the end of this hallway and waved her knitting needles at you threateningly, you would shoot her?"

"Probably," he answered without hesitation.

Goose replied sarcastically, "Then I guess it's a good thing my grandma doesn't knit."

He laughed lightly at that, but did not let his vigilance slip. Ahead of her, Goose heard the jedi talking about the B'omar monks who used to own this place, but she largely ignored it as she peered into the shadows for any clues as to the Hutt's location. Suddenly, one of the trooper's spot lamps passed over something metallic, and all the troopers instantly trained their rifles on it as Skywalker drew his lightsaber.

Contrary to what they'd said about shooting first and asking questions later, they'd all held fire when they saw it was an ordinary droid and not some Sep clanker. Goose had still let out a small squeak of fear when she's first seen it, however, having mistaken it for yet another battle droid. Thankfully, no one seemed to notice it, since all eyes were on Skywalker as he demanded it tell him who it was while waving his lightsaber in its faceplate.

The droid identified itself as the monastery's caretaker, and after that Goose stopped really paying attention to the exchange between Skywalker and the droid. With the danger seemingly past, she felt her unease slip away to be replaced by acute fatigue. She almost missed the part when the droid told Skywalker about the dungeons in the cellar because she was so busy trying to stifle a yawn. Hearing the word _dungeon_ woke her up a little, but she relaxed again when it seemed she would not be going along.

In the end, only the two jedi were to venture down into the monastery's cellar, and the rest of them would stay above and secure the entrance. Goose had no objections, since the last thing she wanted to do was wander around blindly in a dank, unlit cellar, but she couldn't shake a feeling of trepidation as she watched Skywalker and Ahsoka vanish into the gloom at the end if the long hallway. She hoped they'd be quick, so they could just get off Teth already.

Once the jedi had gone, Goose and the squad of troopers returned to the courtyard, and she hung around the entrance to the monastery so she wouldn't be far when they needed her to take a look at the Hutt. She felt a tingle of fear at the possibility that the Hutt really was sick, and fervently hoped that her being there was just an extra precaution. Something seemed to be bothering Coric, if the way he kept looking back the way the jedi had gone was any indication, and she had to admit she felt the same way.

"The general knows he's walking into trouble, doesn't he?" Coric finally said aloud.

"Yes," Rex replied simply as he scanned the activity in the courtyard for the umpteenth time.

Coric didn't seem satisfied, and he continued to pace around. "I have this nagging feeling we ought to be down there with him."

"Don't worry, Coric," Rex said after a pause, and Goose could sense a grin on his face even though he still wore his helmet. "If the general comes back with any broken bones…they won't be his."

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A/N: Happy Memorial Day, everyone! Please don't forget to review!


	24. Outrageous Misfortune

#24 Outrageous Misfortune

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Time crawled by slowly as Goose and the troopers waited for the jedi to return. It could not have been more than ten minutes, but the tension among the men had grown palpable as the silence stretched on uncomfortably in the thick atmosphere. At first she had tried to doze off and rest a bit to relieve some of her exhaustion, but she soon picked up on the troopers' unease as she saw them glancing warily at the sky above and jungle below.

They seemed to be expecting trouble, and considering that they were in the midst of some Separatist plot, it seemed likely they would encounter some eventually. There was no telling what the Seps had in store for them, and Goose really didn't want any more surprises. After that, she had made sure to stay as alert as the rest of them.

When the jedi finally did return, she heard them coming long before she saw them. The sound began as a faint sobbing, but grew into a loud, piercing wailing as it grew nearer. That noise certainly couldn't have been coming from either of the jedi, so it had to be the Hutt. Goose could feel a chill settle over her despite the steamy heat as she registered the unmistakable shrieks of a crying infant. Why in the nine Corellian hells hadn't anyone told her the Hutt was going to be a baby?

She'd been expecting an adolescent at the very least, but now there was no denying that her newest responsibility was to be a young Huttlet. Her job would have been hard even if the Hutt had been older, but now things were taking a turn for the impossible. Babies of all species are tricky to take care of, and Goose was certain an infant Hutt would be no exception. At this point, all she could do was hope the universe would be kind to her, for once.

The high-pitched cries drew nearer, and Goose reluctantly headed toward them. Perhaps it wasn't sick at all, and it was just crying because it was…hungry? If it had enough energy to make that much fuss, it couldn't be that bad off, could it? The two jedi emerged from the long shadows, and she could just make out a small form squirming in Ahsoka's arms. As they stepped closer, she could see that the Huttlet was not much bigger than a bolo ball.

It must have been heavier than it looked, however, because it seemed like Ahsoka was straining under its weight as she attempted to soothe it. A wave of putrid, ammonia-scented stench assailed Goose's nostrils as she neared the Huttlet, and she began to wonder how Ahsoka managed to hold it without gagging. The Hutt was giving off a _gnarly_ bad smell, and Ahsoka was _cuddling_ it. That was going above and beyond the call of duty, in her book.

Skywalker's face betrayed nothing but disgust for the rank-smelling Hutt, and he vanished to talk to Rex without a word as soon as he saw Goose coming near. Ahsoka actually managed to show some sort of genuine concern for the wailing Huttlet as she gently settled it on the ground for Goose to examine it. Taking only shallow breaths, Goose knelt down next to the padawan and started to look the Huttlet over.

"I think this little guy is sick," Ahsoka said apprehensively as she stroked the stinky infant.

Goose fought a grimace as the smell made her stomach churn a bit, and she wondered how Ahsoka could stand the terrible odor. The more she looked at the Huttlet, however, she could see that the young padawan was right. Goose wasn't entirely sure how a Hutt was supposed to smell, but in looking over the files of numerous gastropodal species, she'd learned that gastropods tend to excrete especially noxious compounds when they were ill.

Couple the overwhelming stink with the Huttlet's glassy eyes and incessant wailing, and Goose had to agree there was something wrong with it. However, she was woefully lacking in resources to diagnose the ailing Hutt.

"I thinks so too," Goose replied at length. "Trouble is, I don't know what he has."

Ahsoka's eyes widened. "You can help him, right?"

She only grunted back noncommittally, then tugged on some gloves and felt the Huttlet's slimy skin. The GASSH file had said that Hutt body temperature never exceeded around 60 degrees Fahrenheit, but the Huttlet seemed much warmer than that. Based on what little information she had, Goose could only conclude that the Huttlet had a fever.

Skywalker returned from conferring with Rex, and looked down at them impatiently. "Well, Doctor?"

"The Huttlet has a fever," Goose replied flatly, stripping off her gloves. "I don't know how serious it is, but the sooner we get him to a medbay, the better."

He nodded curtly. "A gunship should be arriving soon to pick up the wounded. He can go up with them."

Goose stood and backed away from the pungent Hutt, glad she wouldn't have to keep touching it. Ahsoka gathered the Huttlet up in her arms again, although Goose wasn't sure why she would do so willingly. Not only did it reek, that wrinkly green slug was more or less solid muscle. It had to be heavy. Skywalker also watched her pick up the Huttlet, and there was no mistaking the loathing in his eyes directed at the nauseating bundle of joy.

"Ahsoka, put that slug in a backpack," he ordered, unable to keep the revulsion out of his voice. "You'll be spending a week in the 'fresher scrubbing the stench off yourself as it is."

His padawan huffed a little in response, but obeyed and asked a trooper for a backpack. Almost affectionately, Ahsoka placed the still-flailing, screaming, and unpleasantly smelly Huttlet into the proffered pack, and smiled at it as if it were an adorable felinx kit and not a squalling slug. Then she picked up the laden backpack and put it on backwards, so the baby Hutt would sit just a few inches from her face. Goose couldn't imagine why she would ever keep it that close to her nose.

Had she not known Togrutans have excellent olfactory senses, Goose would've guessed the padawan didn't _have_ a sense of smell.

"I don't think Skyguy likes little Stinky over here very much," Ahsoka sighed once Skywalker had passed out of earshot.

"Stinky?" Goose chuckled, "It's hardly a misnomer. I mean, what does a Hutt use as an air freshener? A decomposing nerf?"

Her joke fell flat and Ahsoka sent her a sharp look, apparently having become very attached to the Huttlet in the past ten minutes. Sensing a retort, Goose mumbled something about checking on the wounded and made a hasty exit, relieved to be free from both the overpowering smell and the padawan's accusatory stare. She made her way over to Coric, who was standing near the wounded, so it would not look like she had been lying.

"Hey, Goose," Coric greeted amicably when she reached him. "Can you believe the smell coming off of that Hutt? It's kriffing _honking_!"

She smiled at his colorful language. "Yeah, I hope we stow him in the cargo bay. I haven't smelled anything that bad since med school, when we did an autopsy on a Herglic who was too big to fit inside any of the refrig units. After a day or so, well… _phew_."

"Ugh," said Coric, amused. "I just can't imagine how the commander can stand to hold that Hutt for so long. Even with helmet filters, I wouldn't want to stand downwind of that thing."

Goose laughed in response, and the two of them lapsed into silence. The tension in the courtyard remained, but it had dissipated somewhat as they began to see the light at the end of the tunnel. With the Huttlet in hand, all they had to do was wait for transportation off-world. Then it would be over, and Goose would finally be able to have some peace and quiet after so many weeks of nonstop fighting.

Leaning against one of the many vine-covered columns in the courtyard, Goose began to relax and daydream about collapsing into her bunk back on the Resolute. She envisioned clean sheets, hot showers, steaming mugs of caf, and a full night's uninterrupted sleep on a real bed. Her reverie, unfortunately, ended abruptly when Ahsoka came up to her with a troubled look that didn't suit such a youthful face.

"I think something's wrong with Stinky," the padawan said with a note of desperation. "He stopped crying, and just, well…look at him. He's turning every shade of green except the one he's supposed to be, and just listen to these awful noises he's making."

As she talked, the Huttlet gurgled weakly and made a strangled wheezing sound, its tongue lolling out of its slack mouth. Goose had to admit, its condition had deteriorated significantly in the past few minutes. She muttered a few choice curses under her breath, mentally berating herself for messing up the one job she had been brought to do. If this Huttlet died from this fever, it would be her fault and hers alone.

"Honestly, there isn't much I can do," Goose finally said. "I'll have more resources in the medbay, but even then I might accidentally poison him. Hutts aren't _supposed_ to get sick."

Ahsoka's expression was of round-eyed disappointment. "If Stinky dies, it won't just be Jabba who'll go against the Republic, the rest of the Hutt cartels will join the Separatists too! Isn't there _anything_ you can do?"

Goose began to say no, but then she heard the whine of an approaching gunship's engine. This was it. In a few minutes, they'd be safely aboard the Resolute.

"Look!" she grinned with a growing feeling of elation. "Once the gunship brings us to the ship, I can use the medbay's bioscanners to find out wh…"

She trailed off as she realized something was wrong. Goose could see the LAAT/i gunship as it descended through the thick cloud cover, and noticed it was weaving through the air the same way her landing ship had when it was avoiding enemy fire. Then, in the still air, she heard the droning sound of the engines of many, many more ships.

Skywalker was suddenly running past her, yelling into his comlink, "Gunship, abort! I repeat, do not land! Separatist ships closing in! Abo–"

All hell broke loose when the gunship's rear exploded into a ball of flame, and the doomed craft broke apart in midair, sending red-hot, twisted durasteel hurtling at the troopers in the courtyard below. Frozen to the spot, Goose could only watch in openmouthed horror as her hope for salvation rained down in flaming chunks of destruction. A heartbeat later, a squadron of Separatist vulture droids pierced the dense clouds, followed close behind by a massive droid landing ship.

Then she saw the chaos around her as the clone troopers reacted immediately, racing to set up defensive positions and repel the Separatist onslaught. Goose jumped back to reality, and knew she had to get the wounded out of their exposed position and into better cover. She ran as quickly as her feet could carry her through the already rubble-strewn colonnade, mindless of the crossfire that had erupted between the troopers and the vulture droids as they strafed the courtyard.

As she ran, a brilliant red bolt of plasma punched into a column no more than five feet in front of her, shattering it and sending up a thick plume of debris. Goose dove to the ground, heart thudding so hard she heard it in her ears. Small bits of masonry peppered her back and she was nearly choked by dust, but she coughed it out and rose to her feet once it had settled. When she stood, she saw what had demolished the column.

Several spider droids, essentially turbolasers on legs, were streaming into the courtyard, spitting plasma at anything that moved. Beyond them she saw that the troop ship had already landed, and rank upon rank of skeletal-faced battle droids poured out of it. Goose's breath caught for only a moment, then she continued her mad dash toward the wounded, who in true trooper form had picked up their blasters and started firing back.

"We'll be overrun any minute," she shouted once she'd slid behind cover with them. "How many of you can walk?"

A trooper next to her began to answer, but his voice was drowned out as a vulture droid screamed by overhead, barely twenty feet away. The rush of air from the fighter's slipstream nearly blew her off her feet, and Goose looked up to see the vulture fire point-blank into the vulnerable concertina joint between the AT-TE's fore and aft sections. The walker was instantly engulfed in flames, and it collapsed to the ground as its legs buckled underneath it.

She felt a pang as the craft that had carried her up the deadly cliff side was destroyed, but she didn't dwell on it for long. Without the AT-TE's turbolasers laying down suppressing fire, the troopers had no choice but to give ground as more and more battle droids flooded the courtyard. Goose didn't bother asking her question again, and in a blind rush of adrenaline she helped a trooper who had been shot in the leg to stand, then slung his arm over her shoulders and ran toward the doors of the monastery as fast as she was able.

The rest of the Republic troops had started to fall back now, as the swarms of droids overwhelmed their ability to defend such an open courtyard. All she saw was the entrance to the monastery before her as a sort of tunnel vision set in and instinct took over. Goose barely even registered a vulture droid that strafed the retreating troopers, ripping up ancient flagstones and clones alike, scattering shards of stone as deadly as shrapnel.

In her state, Goose didn't notice that many of the wounded men who followed behind her were cut down by the ruthless blasterfire from the multitudes of battle droids that closed in on them from seemingly every direction. Her sole focus was in getting the trooper she was supporting inside the monastery, and by some miracle she managed not to trip on the broken masonry, dead troopers, and blasted droid parts that littered the ground.

With a flood of relief she stepped into the cool darkness of the monastery, and deposited her burden in the safety of an alcove. Suddenly without purpose, Goose stood and looked back out at the courtyard, for an insane moment thinking she might go out again in search of wounded troopers. Her heart skipped a beat and she could only stand there, transfixed by fear, as she was confronted by a veritable wall of battle droids.

The droids marched forward through plumes of acrid black smoke and burning debris, shooting with the cruel, unfeeling coldness only machines had. Stupidly, Goose stood rooted to the spot, unable to tear her eyes from the nightmarish spectacle before her. Coric, recognizable through the haze only by the blue stripes on his armor, skidded to a crouch beside her and slammed his hand down on her raised head just moments before a laser bolt punched into the wall behind where her face had just been.

"Keep your kriffing head down!" he shouted at her as he shoved her into an alcove.

"Can do," she managed to gasp, and was unable to suppress a shudder as she saw the still-smoking pit mark in the wall.

It was clear there was nothing she could do. The troopers around her were fighting for their lives, and if she so much as moved she'd probably either get in their way or get herself shot. A dark shadow began to descend across the twilight of the hall, and Goose realized the massive monastery door was starting to close. _Finally_. She looked around and saw troopers firing madly at the sea of droids, and on the other side of the hall sat Ahsoka, curled up around the Huttlet, sheltering it with her body.

Then fear jolted through her as she realized she didn't see Skywalker and his glowing blue lightsaber anywhere, and hadn't seen him since the shooting started. Her adrenaline-soaked brain failed to comprehend how he, who always seemed to be able to tiptoe through an enemy fusillade with hardly a scratch, could have been gunned down. Goose could hear the door's ancient gears grinding as it lowered, sparking the vision that they'd be left with the young, frightened jedi commander in charge to flash through her mind.

Her momentary panic proved to be unfounded when, at the last possible moment, Skywalker slid through the narrow gap between the door and ground, dragging an unconscious trooper behind him. Goose could not quite name the emotion she felt as she saw their general still alive, but its closest relative was relief. Then the massive door fell shut with a deep, ominous thud, plunging the inside of the monastery into inky blackness.

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A/N: Hey everyone! This may be the last time I update for a while, because I'm going to Spain! Please don't forget to review!


	25. No Escape

#25 No Escape

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For a moment, all was quiet, and the tense stillness was disturbed only by the soft clacking of plastoid armor and the faint sounds of droids massing on the other side of the door. Then one by one, the troopers' helmet spot lamps flickered to life, their white beams of light cutting sharply through the darkness. Looking around, Goose counted perhaps only forty such points of light, all that was left of a company of one hundred forty-four.

"Rex, how many casualties?" Skywalker asked, the first to break the deathly silence, his voice echoing strangely in the large, hushed chamber.

"Forty-two men remaining, sir," came the captain's clipped, obviously pained reply. "Nine walking wounded, one seriously injured and immobile."

She could feel her entire body shivering as she sat there in shocked numbness. In less than an hour, three-quarters of Torrent Company, over a hundred men, had died on this miserable planet. And now an innumerable army of droids stood just outside the monastery door. Who knew how long it would be before they blasted their way through or found a way around the primitive lock? With ten men incapacitated, they didn't stand a chance.

Even if there was a way out, there were too many Separatist fighters in the air for gunships to break through and pick them up. Also, that was assuming they lived long enough to actually call for help. In all likelihood, the droids had jammed all comm frequencies the moment they started their attack, and communications with the Resolute were completely cut off. For all intents and purposes, they were trapped.

But she knew she still had to help the wounded, so Goose forced herself to her feet, walking unsteadily to the prone form of the trooper Skywalker had dragged in with him at the last second. Coric was already beside him, pulling off cracked and blackened plates of armor from the trooper's bloodied chest and right shoulder. She saw the yellow markings on the clone's helmet as she knelt down, and could not suppress a gasp as she realized it was none other than the AT-TE pilot.

Only half an hour ago she'd been wedged into the cockpit behind him, fearing a long fall and a fiery crash. Now he lay on the dusty monastery floor, his body mangled from the explosion that had devastated his walker. Goose didn't waste a moment, pulling on gloves before clamping off spurting arteries at a frenzied pace in a bid to control the bleeding. Coric put in a plasma line to help replace his blood volume, but the pilot was fading fast.

Goose cursed under her breath, barely able to see what she was doing because there was so much blood everywhere. Shrapnel had gone so deeply into his chest his ribs were exposed in places, and there was just no way she could stop the bleeding fast enough. She and Coric desperately worked to stabilize him, but they were fighting a losing battle. He would bleed out no matter what they did, even if they'd had the finest equipment in the galaxy.

They kept trying, and although it felt like for an hour that she alternated between applying pressure and fixing clamps on bleeders, it was probably only a few minutes before the pilot's heart gave out. Coric felt for a pulse, then drew back, shaking his head. Goose knew what it meant, but stared back with blank incomprehension, unwilling to accept another death. A sudden rage filled her, rising so quickly she lost what was left of her control.

" _Fek_!" she shouted, hurling the hemostat in her hand at the monastery door. It hit with a hollow clang. "Kark this fripping planet, and skrag the Hutts!"

She didn't have to look around to know that everyone had heard that. Sound carried far in the subdued atmosphere. Her outburst had been utterly inappropriate, but she was beyond caring at this point. Goose was shaking again, and this time it wasn't from fear. If she hadn't suddenly felt so incredibly exhausted, she might have continued to scream her fury at this senseless killing. And it wasn't as if any of the droids the clones had destroyed had even _died_.

The coppery smell of blood suddenly pervaded her nostrils, and her breaths came in shorter gasps as a wave of nausea passed through her. Goose stood up jerkily, her vision blurring and heart beating a quick staccato rhythm. She could feel bile rising in her throat, and through sheer force of will alone managed to keep it down. Leaning against a cool stone pillar a few feet away, she took deep, sobbing breaths and tried to regain her composure.

It was hard. Goose had felt helpless before, many times. But never, never in all her experience had she felt such complete, overwhelming frustration at her impotence. Troopers were dying all around her, and so far she'd been of no use whatsoever. It was almost enough to drive her mad.

Several minutes later, she finally looked up at what was going on around her. Troopers had broken out into feverish activity, and every able-bodied clone was working to barricade the door and set up booby traps and defensive positions. In the middle of the hall stood Rex and the two jedi, conferring in hushed tones, probably trying to figure a way out of this mess. At the far end of the room, Goose could see Coric setting up a first aid position in the shelter of a deep alcove.

Her anger had passed, leaving her feeling like a deflated balloon. Goose looked to where the AT-TE pilot's body had been, but it was gone, only a small blood smear to mark where he had been. She couldn't remember him being moved. Resentment bubbled up again in her again when she saw her hands, red up to the wrists in his blood, and she bitterly stripped the gloves off and threw them to the ground. She hadn't even known his name.

Goose walked slowly toward the first aid position, intending to help Coric with patching up the wounded. In her absent-minded state, she didn't notice that Skywalker had started talking to her until Rex reached out and grabbed her arm gently.

"Doctor, Ahsoka and I have decided to try to find another exit and escape with the Huttlet," Skywalker began again. "Rex and his men are staying behind. You'll be coming with us…"

He kept talking, saying something about taking care of the sick Huttlet, but she had stopped listening. All her mind could register was that he was just abandoning his troops. After everything that had happened, he was going to leave them all to die, and only bother to save two women and a baby? Goose felt that old fury building up again, and was suddenly swept by a wave of loyalty toward Rex and his men. She'd be damned if Skywalker forced her to abandon them with him.

"I'm staying," she cut him off softly. "I belong here, helping with the wounded. There isn't much I can do for the Huttlet anyway."

Skywalker looked surprised, and she couldn't blame him. He'd been offering her a chance for survival in the face of certain death, and she'd refused. For some reason, it didn't really feel to her like she'd just given up her only chance at life. Somehow, it hadn't fully dawned on her that she might be dying soon. Skywalker's expression hardened, and Goose realized for the first time just how haggard he looked.

"Doctor, there is no way that this will end well," he said lowly, so the troopers moving past wouldn't hear. To his credit, his voice sounded heavy with remorse.

Goose sighed tiredly. "Skywalker, I'm staying."

He probably thought she was insane, and didn't bother arguing with her after that. She turned to leave, but noticed Ahsoka standing rigidly in terrified silence, clutching the Huttlet tightly to her chest. Deciding that it couldn't possibly do any harm and would probably give the poor padawan some peace of mind, Goose dug into her medkit and pulled out a hypospray of acetaminophen. She dialed down the dosage to only sixty milligrams, guessing how much the Huttlet would need.

"I won't promise anything, but with any luck this might help bring down the fever," Goose said as reassuringly as she could.

Then she unceremoniously injected the Huttlet, feeling only a slight bit of sympathy for it as it began its crying anew. What reason did she have to feel bad for it? One hundred men had already died for that Hutt, and forty more were soon to follow.

Rex gave Skywalker an almost brotherly pat on the shoulder, and the general returned the gesture without hesitation. It occurred to Goose that Skywalker genuinely felt bad for leaving. She also understood how important it was that the Huttlet make it out safely, but she just couldn't bring herself to forgive him for abandoning his men. Despite that, she still found herself feeling a pang of regret as she watched the two jedi recede into the gloom.

Her head spun a little bit as she continued on her way to the first aid position. She vaguely remembered Rex saying there were only nine walking wounded, and her stomach knotted as she realized that meant that most of the fifteen wounded men she'd tried to get out of the courtyard and into the monastery hadn't made it. There really wasn't much reason for her to be here anymore, anyway. Sooner or later, the droids would break through, and that would be it for everybody.

Mechanically, she knelt down beside the closest wounded man and started to patch him up. She worked quickly, methodically, and was already on her second patient when the droids started cutting the door. It started out as a low whine, but grew into a loud buzzing that carried across the room. Her heart nearly stopped when she identified the sound, and like everyone else her eyes were immediately drawn to the door.

At the very bottom edge of the door was a small spot that started to glow orange, then red. Goose continued to watch, transfixed, and the molten spot expanded slowly upward as the droids moved the laser torch. A cold feeling settled in the pit of her stomach as she watched it, even though she realized it would still be some time until they broke through. The ancient monastery door, though rusted, was made of a strong, thick metal that would be difficult for the cutters to melt through.

With great effort, she tore her gaze from the door and continued bandaging the wounded man's leg in stoic silence. The buzzing sound was impossible to ignore, however. Once she was finished with the last of the wounded, there was nothing more for her to do but sit and listen. The wounded had gone to join their brothers once they'd been fixed up, and Coric had left her too, after telling her to stay there and not move a muscle.

Nobody spoke, at least not with their helmet's external audio on, and she was left alone with her thoughts. Admittedly, her mind was all over the place. She'd always imagined it would be terrifying to know she would die soon, but somehow she had stopped feeling scared. All she really felt was tired and a little empty. Goose had also assumed she would think about home or miss her family, but as her thoughts chased each other around in circles she found that she'd utterly forgotten the name of the street she'd lived on as a child.

By that point, there was a five and a half foot vertical scar cooling in the door, and a horizontal one was forming at a right angle to the first. The cuts weren't very wide, but some sunlight filtered through them, making the prospect of being overrun seem all the more real. Although it seemed like they were cutting through at an alarmingly fast rate, it had really been close to a half hour since they started. Goose's legs were beginning to cramp up after crouching down for so long.

She wondered why the Separatists had chosen to use such a slow method to get in when all they really had to do was lay some explosives and blow the door right off. Eventually, she decided that they were probably afraid the Huttlet was still with them, and an explosion might accidentally bury it under twenty feet of rubble. It made no difference to her what reason they had, though. As long as it gave the jedi some more time.

After a while, Goose started to wish that Jules was there to keep her company. It was a selfish thought, she knew, because Jules was safely aboard the Resolute, probably still asleep in the medbay. But she'd gotten used to him being around after all that time together on Christophsis, and couldn't help but feel that things would be better if he was there. Nevertheless, she was happy that at least one member of Torrent Company would survive.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the cutting sound suddenly ended. It had already been uncomfortably quiet, but without the constant droning in the background, the silence was even more unnerving. She saw the troopers tense up and train their rifles on the door, even though the cut hadn't been finished, and there was no way the droids could get through. For whatever reason, the droids had just…stopped.

On the other side of the door, Goose could hear a voice, not coming from a droid, shouting orders. It was too indistinct to make out what it was saying, but oddly enough, it sounded…feminine. She didn't know what was happening, and didn't believe there was any way the droids could get in with only two cuts in the door. Regardless, the troopers seemed to think something was coming, so she squeezed herself as deeply into the alcove as she was able.

It was a good thing she did, because in the next moment, all hell broke loose. She wasn't sure how it happened, only that the monastery door was suddenly _open_ , and every trooper had started shooting for all he was worth. Goose couldn't see much of the battle from where she hid, but it was _loud_. There was explosion after explosion, and in the enclosed space every last one of them was magnified, and the whole building was wracked by the shock waves.

Despite her restricted view, Goose could see a solid wall of sand-colored battle droids pour into the entryway, followed by ranks of spider droids and towering dark super battle droids, all spewing red blasterfire as they moved relentlessly down the passage. Although she hid in the back, she could still feel the warmth of the battle as laser cannons superheated the air and the atmosphere grew thick with smoke from half a dozen different explosions.

Then the smoke obscured almost everything, and it was difficult to make out what was going on anymore. What she did see was that it had turned into dirty, close-quarters combat. One clone, having shot a battle droid at point-blank range, was killed as a shard of metal flew from the blasted automaton and slashed through his throat, lodging in one of his cervical vertebrae and nearly taking his head off completely. The troopers stood their ground, but it didn't matter. The droids just rolled right over them.

Everything was happening so fast. It all moved in such a blur that before she even realized it, the battle was over. The clones had stopped shooting, but the droids were still coming. Her mind turned so slowly she didn't immediately realize that the troopers had stopped shooting only because all of them were dead. Or close to dead, at the very least. Then her mind jumped to the most obvious conclusion. She would be next.

Her mouth suddenly went dry. She hadn't felt any true emotion, only horrified disbelief, as she'd watched the clones be slaughtered. But now, only now that the droids were coming for _her_ , did Goose feel true fear. And she also felt shame. Why had she felt _nothing_ when they died?

But that didn't matter, because the droids were upon her. In fact, they trooped on past her, deeper into the monastery. For a desperately hopeful moment, she thought that maybe, just maybe, they would pass her by if she stayed quiet enough. And it seemed to work. None so much as turned a faceplate in her direction as they marched on by in a perfect column. In total, Goose estimated at least a hundred battle droids had passed her by, accompanied by a few dozen super battle droids and a handful of spider droids.

Just as quickly as they had burst in, the droids were gone, the sound of their eerily synchronized footsteps fading away as they continued into the monastery. Foolishly – stupidly, in fact – Goose assumed that they had all gone, and she stood up in a daze, unsure of what her next move should be. If all of them were dead, then she was well and truly alone, no matter where the jedi were. She hesitantly began to step out of her alcove, but froze as if dipped in liquid nitrogen when she suddenly heard a voice.

It was the same female-sounding voice she'd heard shouting orders from the other side of the door, only now it came from no more than twenty feet away from where she stood. Panic shot through her, and Goose instinctively jerked backward, mentally cursing her idiocy while pressing herself as far back into the alcove as she could. As she did so, however, her boot scraped against some rubble at her feet, sending a stray pebble skittering out into the hall.

To her adrenaline-enhanced senses, the faint sound was almost painfully loud. It was clear that the Separatist had heard it too, because the voice had trailed off, leaving behind a palpable silence.

"Well, what have we here?" the voice said silkily, although it had a harsh edge to it. "It seems Skywalker didn't just leave his _men_ to die…he abandoned a _woman_ too."

Goose's heart pounded in her chest so quickly she couldn't tell one beat from the other. How could the owner of the voice, the Sep commander, possibly have known that? But it hardly mattered to her racing mind, because before she could comprehend it two battle droids had materialized out of the gloom, dragging her brusquely out of the shadows and halfway down the debris-littered chamber until she stood before their leader.

In front of her was a pale, gaunt-looking woman with a shaven head, dressed in a black cloak with its hood pulled up. Her eyes were unconsciously drawn to the dark tattoos coming from the corners of her mouth, reminding her unpleasantly of blood trailing down a carnivore's jaws after a kill. Goose might never have considered such a skeletal woman dangerous, if not for the cruel sneer that twisted her features, and the cold, predatory glint in her eyes.

"So, a medic," the woman said almost conversationally. "And here I was, under the impression the Republic was only in the habit of throwing away the lives of _clones_. How strange."

She now stood with her hands on her hips, piercing eyes boring into Goose as if trying to read her thoughts. Whether it was intentional or not, her dark cloak fell back to reveal twin curved, wicked-looking lightsaber hilts clipped to her waist. Goose felt her knees begin to weaken, and wondered if she could see her trembling, or even sense her fear. Clearly she was not a jedi, but…something similar, then?

"But enough talk," she continued impatiently. "Where is Skywalker?"

Goose swallowed hard. It had only just dawned on her that she was being interrogated. Although she seemed calm, the Separatist commander radiated malice, and after seeing so many troopers killed it was no far stretch of the imagination to think this woman was capable of torture. Still, Goose wasn't about to give her any useful information. Not that she actually knew anything relevant. No amount of torture could extract knowledge she didn't have in the first place.

"Forget it," Goose finally said, surprising even herself with the defiant note in her voice. Only the tremor in her speech gave away her fear. "I'm a doctor, not a traitor. I have nothing to say to you."

The enemy's disturbingly blue eyes narrowed in irritation, her whole face distorting into an expression of disgust. "I would have expected as much from one of those mindless clones, but what loyalty do you owe that jedi scum? He doesn't care whether you live or die. The jedi don't care about anyone, especially not their army of _slaves_. Skywalker may as well have killed all of you with his own hand by leaving you behind, just to save his sorry skin."

She listened as the woman ranted on, and was shocked to find a small part of her brain _agreeing_ with what she said. Her thoughts became clouded and hazy, but the point was simple. Skywalker had left them, left _all_ of them. He'd run off, abandoned everybody. He'd led them there in the first place. What would it matter if she told where he was? It was all his fault this happened, his fault they were dead…

No.

That wasn't right. Goose had seen the regret in his eyes. Skywalker had left because he'd had to. A lot was at stake here. She knew the woman was lying, so why did it feel…so uncomfortably true?

The Sep lady. She had to be using some kind of jedi mind trick to manipulate her thoughts, even if she wasn't a jedi.

Yes.

 _Mindless clones_. _Army of slaves_. Goose looked at the mangled, bloody, broken bodies of troopers that littered the ground. And they were all dead. Every last one.

Her mind started to clear. The only person to blame was standing right there in front of her.

"No. Skywalker didn't kill those men. _You_ did," Goose said heatedly, her fear receding to be replaced by a smoldering anger. "The Corellians believe in nine hells, and I bet they've got a special place reserved for you in the deepest, darkest–"

She never had the chance to finish that sentence. Before she knew what was happening, an unseen force had lifted her bodily by the throat. Invisible fingers tightened around her trachea, not enough suffocate her into unconsciousness, but hard enough to let her know it wouldn't be too difficult to do it. In a blind panic, Goose kicked her feet uselessly in the air and clawed desperately to loosen hands that weren't there.

"Stupid," the woman snarled. "I have no personal grievance against you. Tell me where Skywalker and the Huttlet are, and I let you live."

The words barely registered in her racing mind. So this was the Force. Goose couldn't tear her eyes from the force-user's hand, outstretched in front of her and clenched almost into a fist. Breathing was getting harder by the second, and she wasn't sure how long it would be before she passed out. One thing was for certain, though. This woman had ordered the deaths of an entire company, _her_ company, and Goose wasn't about to give her anything.

"Go to hell, you hairless harpy," Goose choked out.

The Separatist commander's pale face darkened with rage, and she furiously activated one of her lightsabers, leveling the humming crimson blade at Goose's neck.

"Fool. That jedi has done nothing to deserve this kind of loyalty," she hissed, face contorted with wrath. " _Everyone_ is expendable to them, even you. If you die today, _no one_ will care. Tell me where Skywalker is, and I'll consider not killing you."

The grip on her throat had tightened as well, making every breath Goose took a strangled gasp. She could hear the force-user speaking, but everything had gone fuzzy and black spots swam in her vision. All she could think of was that it was so absurd for her to threaten a helpless prisoner not only with suffocation, but decapitation as well. It was overkill. Despite the darkness that threatened to engulf her, she let a grim smirk flicker across her lips. If she died, so be it.

"What's it going…to be, then?" Goose wheezed, each word a struggle to get out. "You st-strangle me…to death, or you…cut my head off?"

An invisible force punched her in the chest, sending her flying back ten feet into the wall behind her, head cracking hard on the ancient stone. Goose felt the air rush back into her lungs, but the blow was so hard her entire body felt utterly nerveless. She collapsed limply to the ground, and as her vision blurred even more she saw the force-user taking steps closer to her, both lightsabers drawn, a feral snarl on her lips and a murderous glint in her eye.

Goose stared impassively, in too much pain to care anymore. The woman was standing over her, saying something, but Goose didn't hear it. She couldn't even think straight anymore. But as her eyes drooped shut, and everything dimmed into darkness, she could have sworn she saw Rex stand up out of the tangle of debris on the ground, a pistol in each hand.

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A/N: I had lots of free time to write on the airplane, so I'm back a little early! What did you think of Ventress? Please leave a review!


	26. Backed into a Corner

#26 Escape…Almost

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By bits and pieces, Goose slowly floated back to consciousness. The first thing she was aware of was the awful pain in her head. Every beat of her heart caused a brutal, incessant pounding where…where the force-user had thrown her at the wall. She felt her cheek pressed against cold stone; that meant she still had to be inside the monastery. Memory flooded back, and she willed herself to stay perfectly still, in case there were still Separatist droids around. Everything was quiet, but she didn't trust her ears.

With great effort, she managed to force her eyes open. Goose saw that she was still in the same place, half slumped against the wall, half laying on the ground, with her left arm twisted uncomfortably beneath her. She was facing the floor, but could see some of the room from the corner of her eye. The force-user was nowhere in sight, to her relief. However, at the very edge of her vision were four pairs of spindly, sand-brown durasteel legs.

Battle droids. Her breath hitched a little in alarm, and it caused a sharp pain to blossom in her side. She felt the cynical part of her mind spark back to life. As if having her skull cracked open wasn't enough, it also seemed her little encounter with the mad-eyed Sep lady had left her with a broken rib or two. Delightful.

She stifled the grunt of pain that threatened to escape, and tried to take shallower breaths. The battle droids did not seem to have noticed at all. Somewhat relieved, Goose glanced around the room more slowly. A path had been cleared down the center of the hall, likely done by the droids so they wouldn't be slowed by navigating the debris from the battle. The shadows cast by the light shining in from outside had also shifted, meaning it was later in the day. How long had she been out?

Her attention gradually wandered back to the four battle droids, none of which had moved at all since she'd come to. They probably thought she was dead. Sluggishly, she started to wonder what they were doing there. They couldn't have been watching the entrance, she realized, because their feet were pointing the wrong way. From her awkward position on the ground, she couldn't see higher than their legs, but it seemed all of them were facing the wall opposite her.

If they weren't watching the door, then that meant…they were guarding prisoners. Hope flared in her chest for the first time. Maybe some troopers had survived, after all. She hazily recalled Captain Rex, rising to his feet…maybe that _had_ been real. Goose struggled in vain to see what the tinnies were guarding, but her head was at such an angle it would be impossible. The only way would to be for her to raise her head long enough to get a look.

Goose debated it for a while. The battle droids' commander had been enraged the last she remembered, and it was more than plausible they'd finish her off if they discovered she was alive. At the same time, if some troopers really had lived, maybe they still had a chance. Eventually, the desire to know if there were other survivors was so irresistible she decided to try it. She took a breath to steady her nerves, then carefully lifted her head a fraction of an inch.

Being thrown at a solid stone wall must have given her some whiplash, because the muscles in her neck protested the small movement painfully. Goose winced a little, but managed to get a good glimpse before she gingerly relaxed her aching neck. What she'd seen warmed her hear with a mixture of joy and almost overwhelming relief. Five troopers sat together, unarmed and as still as statues, but clearly alive. Rex had been supine against the wall a few feet away from them, but she hadn't been able to tell if he was breathing or not.

Although she felt a pang to see the stolid Captain in such a state, it seemed to Goose that a weight had lifted off her chest. She was sure that the clones were talking to each other inside their helmets, with the external audio off. The droids were just too stupid to take their helmets away from them. Mentally, she cursed herself for getting rid of her ear comlink; if she'd kept it, they would have been able tell her what they were planning. Since she had a wrist comlink now, any attempt to contact her would alert the battle droids immediately.

In the end, there was nothing for her to do but bide her time and wait for the troopers to make their move. When it came, she'd just have to follow along as best she could. After a few more minutes, Goose noticed that her left arm had gone completely numb from being trapped underneath her body so long. The rest of her was starting to hurt too, on top the splitting headache and cracked ribs. Even worse, she was starting to have a hard time staying awake.

Had the situation been different, she might have closed her eyes to complete the illusion of being dead. Now, though, she was certain her run-in with the wall had left her more than just a little concussed. Should she fall asleep now…it was possible she may not wake up again. Of course, that all depended on the extent of the damage inside her skull. If only she knew how long she'd been out, she might be able to guess how bad things were…

Time stretched interminably in the impenetrable silence. Nothing moved. Goose hardly dared to breathe. The battle droids just stood there. All in all, she was having trouble not falling asleep. Her mind would wander away, and increasingly more often she found herself forcing her eyes open after starting to doze off. It was one of these times that her mind began to drift again that a sudden bleeping sound startled her to alertness.

The shock of such an unexpected noise made Goose jerk involuntarily, but the battle droids didn't notice. The bleeping was coming from the comlink built into Rex's vambrace, and the droids were drawn to it like Alessian terror moths to an illumi bulb. They converged on the captain's still form, but only stood there like they couldn't tell where it was coming from. If the troopers were going to make a move, this would be the time.

"Come in, Rex," Skywalker's voice crackled faintly over the comm. "Rex, are you receiving?"

Goose tensed, waiting to see how this would play out, her brain not even processing that Skywalker was alive too. One of the battle droids had tilted its head down for its photoreceptors to inspect his arm, but all four still looked baffled. Rex hadn't moved a muscle yet, and she was beginning to wonder if the force-user had actually killed him. Then again, none of the five other prisoners had so much as twitched, either.

"Rex, do you copy?" The jedi kept trying, "If you can't respond – tap the receiver or something!"

Seeming to have finally figured out where the sound was coming from, a droid leaned to get a better look at the comlink. Rex began to slowly raise his arm, and Goose felt a small thrill of relief even as adrenaline started flowing through her veins again.

"Want to see how it works, clanker?" Rex practically growled.

His fist came out of nowhere, connecting with the battle droid's narrow faceplate, tearing the head right off its fragile neck. Scratch one tinny. Without any verbal command, the rest of the troopers sprang to their feet and started in on the droids with anything they could get their hands on – chunks of masonry, even a dismembered super battle droid's leg. They'd soon overpowered the four droids, and after grabbing their rifles were sprinting out into the courtyard. Taking this as her cue, Goose scrambled to her feet and ran after them.

That is, she _tried_ to run after them. Standing up too quickly had given her a massive head rush, and the back of her skull exploded in pain, causing her to stumble blindly into the wall. Her vision blurred badly, and she tottered on her feet, all sense of balance deserting her. All she could make out were a few white smears moving against a darkish brown background, so Goose pointed herself in the direction they were going and lurched forward.

Goose was sure she was staggering worse than a drunken Wookiee, but her shambling gait carried her out of the monastery door quickly enough. After a few more seconds, blood began to flow normally again and the black spots cleared out of her eyesight. The white blurs resolved into running clone troopers, and she realized they were headed toward the hulking wreckage of the crippled AT-TE. She also noticed red bolts of plasma streaking past her, peppering the flagstones around her feet.

She cast a panicked glance over her shoulder, and was greeted by the unwelcome sight of a dozen battle droids streaming out of the monastery door. While she was distracted, Goose blundered over the smoldering remains of a spider droid and nearly tripped, but windmilled her arms out and managed to catch her balance before she fell. Another wave of adrenaline crashed over her, and she pumped her legs harder to catch up to the troopers.

The first few clones had already made it to cover behind the AT-TE, and the others were close behind. Goose felt her energy draining rapidly, and her broken rib was screaming in protest as she tried to take in big gulps of air. Enemy fire focused on her once the last trooper made it to safety behind the walker, and for the last five yards of her frantic sprint she felt the air around her heated by the flurry of blaster bolts that whizzed past.

Once she reached the AT-TE, her limbs were shaking so badly she couldn't quite muster the strength to climb over the top. Just when she was sure the droids were going to fry her to a crisp, a trooper's had darted out from behind the walker, grabbed the back of her uniform, and yanked her into cover. Goose collapsed into a heap on the other side, heart racing impossibly fast in her chest. Around her, the clones began to fire back desperately with weapons they'd found scattered on the ground.

Barely able to sit up straight, Goose gasped for air and scooted somewhere she wouldn't be in their way. Each breath sent a stab of agony shooting through her chest, and her numbed left arm burned painfully with a pins-and-needles sensation as blood flowed back into it. Her head pounded horribly, and every heartbeat made her skull feel as if it was being hit with a Gamorrean battle-hammer. She felt a sudden wave of nausea, and gagged to keep it down.

The shootout lasted another few minutes, then stopped abruptly. One trooper kept a lookout on the droids, but the rest climbed down off the walker and sank tiredly to the ground. Rex dropped down next to Goose, slamming reloads into the small arsenal of blasters he'd amassed.

"Glad to see you're still with us, Doctor Gosling," he said with a nod, panting lightly. "We weren't so sure for a while there."

She laughed weakly, but winced at the pain in her side. "Yeah, I wasn't so sure about you, either. You ought to get a gold star for playing dead."

"Those tinnies aren't too hard to fool," Rex replied with a trace of humor, then his tone took on a more serious note. "I'll get Coric to come check up on you, Doctor. You look awful."

Goose cast him what she hoped was a baleful look, but decided he was probably right. She gingerly touched the back of her head, and felt that her hair was matted down with blood. She hadn't realized it while she'd lain on the floor in the monastery, but blood had also flowed down the left side of her face, leaving her cheek encrusted and stiff. Grimacing a bit, she let her arm fall back down to her side, her fingers sticky with her own half-dried blood.

Coric crouched down next to her and gave a slow whistle when he looked at the back of her head. "Stang! That Seppie really did a number on you, didn't she?"

"Let's see how great _you_ look after a crazy force-user tries to play smashball with your head," she grumbled without heat, glad to see he was alive.

He chuckled, then started checking her pupils for dilation. "Left pupil completely blown, right is partly dilated."

That wasn't very good news. Goose would've had to be rather deep in denial not to think she'd gotten a concussion, but she'd at least hoped it wasn't too bad. But her pupils were nonresponsive, she felt nauseous, had almost no sense of balance, her vision was blurry, and she still felt like she was about to fall asleep. While she mused to herself, Coric had started probing the back of her head, and just then prodded a sensitive spot that sent a fresh jolt of pain through her skull.

"Ow! That _hurt_ ," Goose hissed at him through clenched teeth, slapping his hand away. "What are you doing poking around back there, anyway?"

Coric said defensively, "I was just trying to see how bad it is."

"Unless you managed to fit an entire neuroscanner into one of your ammo pouches, I suggest you stop," she said irritably, then her tone sobered. "I'm pretty sure I've got a brain bleed, and a possible skull fracture on top of it."

The skull fracture was just a guess, but judging by her symptoms, a subdural hematoma was very likely. They occur when the head suffers severe trauma, which causes bleeding that builds up in the tissues between the skull and brain, almost like a bruise. Except, unlike a bruise, if too much blood accumulates there, it puts pressure on the brain that can cause irreparable damage. On the bright side, if there was such a thing in this situation, it could take hours or even days for the bleeding to prove fatal, so Goose still had time.

"You sure?" he asked apprehensively.

Goose sighed lightly. "Call it an educated guess."

He nodded slowly, then took a roll of gauze out of his medpack and started to wrap it around her head. "You're still bleeding a bit, so at least this will help."

When he finished, he pulled out a single-use painkiller sharp and injected it in her arm. Her entire body ached at this point, but the drugs were able to blunt the worst of it to a dull throbbing.

"Thanks," she mumbled with relief.

"No problem," Coric replied. "Anything else?"

Anything else? There was plenty else. Goose could feel all the little scrapes and bruises she'd accumulated since Christophsis, and the combined effect was the feeling that she'd been dragged through a bramble of brassvines. Backwards. But that wasn't painful enough to be worth mentioning, so she didn't.

She groaned a little for dramatic effect. "Got a broken rib or two."

There really wasn't anything to be done about those ribs except for her to tough it out, but it felt good to complain. Anything to get her mind off the blood that was pooling in the back of her head.

"Ah." He said with mock severity. "Has to be from when the Sep lady kicked you."

That must have happened after she'd blacked out, then. It made sense. The force-user had looked downright murderous, last she could recall.

"Don't remember it," Goose muttered.

"Well, you did manage to _really_ piss her off," Coric said with a note of admiration. "She may not have done it if you'd kept your mouth shut."

Goose smiled wryly, although that memory was not fond. "I never told you I was smart, did I?"

"No," he chuckled. "But that was Asajj Ventress."

The name rang no bells in her mind, but it clearly meant something to Coric. An important figure among the Separatists, apparently.

She only stared at him blankly. "Who?"

"Oh, you know," Coric answered flippantly. "Dark side adept with an attitude. Dooku's good pal, and favorite assassin. You're lucky she didn't take your head off."

Abruptly, before Goose even had a chance to laugh, their reprieve came to an end.

"Second wave!" the clone on lookout duty shouted.

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A/N: I'm sorry about these endless cliffhangers, but I just can't seem to help myself. Anyway, please review!


	27. Longest Hour

#27 Longest Hour

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In an instant, the troopers had blasters in their hands and the firefight picked up where it had left off. Goose felt the carcass of the dead AT-TE shudder as enemy plasma punched into it, but it held firm. The high walls around the courtyard magnified the noise of the blasterfire, and it became almost deafening. She tried standing up, thinking she might at least help the troopers reload their weapons, but felt such a wave of dizziness when she did that she decided it would be best for her not to move.

Head wounds could be very tricky. One moment, you could seem perfectly fine, and the next…well, you could be in a coma. Or dead. Goose had seen enough such cases to understand that. She was also starting to feel drowsy again, now that the adrenaline had worn off, and it filled her with dread. In a bid to stay awake, she tried to focus on the sounds coming from the battle so she could guess what was going on.

Despite her best efforts, all the sounds mingled into one disjointed cacophony of noise. There could not have been too many droids, however, because the six troopers were managing to hold their own without too much trouble. That was odd, because she'd well over one hundred droids march past her into the monastery; that was more than enough to take out six clones and an injured surgeon. So why weren't they?

The more she thought about it, the less it made sense. Those battle droids had already decimated and entire company. A mere handful of troopers should be no problem, unless…they were keeping them alive for some reason. As bait? Maybe they thought Skywalker was going to come back for them. If that was the case, then this was a trap. But…what if there was a simpler answer? Battle droids weren't all that smart, so perhaps they were so stupid they couldn't figure out what to do without that Ventress lady calling the shots.

After another few minutes, the shooting stopped again. The troopers climbed back down, tossing aside spent plasma magazines and reloading their blasters with new ones. A few took off their helmets, but only long enough to cram down a ration cube or wipe the sweat off their faces. It was only then that Goose realized just how tired all of them had to be. None of them had probably had any rest since as far back as Christophsis.

"Any word from General Skywalker yet?" a trooper asked.

"I haven't been able to raise him again," Rex answered a little wearily. "He said he'd come, though. He'll be here."

Goose couldn't tell who he was trying harder to convince, the trooper or himself. Skywalker should have gotten off-planet with the Huttlet by now. If he was still in the monastery, he would be more focused on getting away from Ventress and her droids than coming back to help them. Her thoughts were interrupted by a loud boom, followed by a low rumbling noise. It came from the far side of the monastery, and all seven of them turned around to see a thick plume of smoke curling into the atmosphere.

"Hope that doesn't have anything to do with Skywalker," Goose muttered mostly to herself.

Then their respite was over, and the shooting resumed once more. It continued in that manner for another hour; with sporadic shootouts that lasted only a few minutes, then a short break before it started up again. During the brief lulls, the troopers had started trying to reinforce their position with scrapped droids and anything else they could drag in without breaking cover. Goose found herself staring out at the courtyard, although it was no longer recognizable as a place of peaceful contemplation.

Her thoughts had gotten hazy as the time passed, and it was getting harder to concentrate. More often than not, her mind would start drifting away, and she'd nod off before jerking awake again. If he had a spare moment, Coric would try talking to her to keep her awake, but most of the time he was too busy. The battle droids faded away in importance in her mind, and all Goose felt was a growing dread of falling asleep and never waking up.

It didn't help that it was getting late in the day, and twilight was beginning to set in. The sunset had been nice to look at, but Goose feared that as soon as it was dark she would lose the fight against her drooping eyelids once and for all. And it seemed she was right, because she started to doze again even before the sun had completely gone down, and would have fallen asleep if not for Coric shaking her awake.

"Come on, Goose," he said with worry in his voice. "You have to stay awake."

She jolted back to wakefulness, blinking her eyes rapidly to clear the sleep out of them.

"I wasn't sleeping," Goose grumbled defensively. "I was just…resting my eyes."

Coric snorted but said nothing in return. He settled down tiredly next to her and leaned heavily on the AT-TE behind them. They sat in silence, none of the troopers saying anything that could be heard out of the privacy of their own helmet. Goose felt her thoughts start to wander away again. This time, her mind began to muse on how strange all of this was. Everything had taken on a surreal quality, and whether that was just the head wound talking, she wasn't quite sure.

"Sometimes I feel like my entire life is someone else's dream," she blurted randomly, her words running together as she spoke, "and then I wonder whose dream it is, and if they're enjoying it or not."

Six helmeted heads turned to look at her, no doubt all sharing the same dumbfounded look. It was likely they all thought she'd lost her mind. Even Goose wasn't quite sure where that had come from, or why she'd let it out of her mouth.

"You know," Coric said carefully, "delirium is a sure sign of serious head trauma."

Goose shot him a glare, although he probably couldn't see it in the gathering dusk. "Thank you for that life-changing insight."

She hadn't meant to sound so harsh, but being reminded of the ticking time bomb inside her head really didn't help her mood. They lapsed into silence once again, and it was only broken by the sounds of the troopers as they moved around restlessly. Goose probably would have been restless too, if only she had enough energy to move at all.

"Shouldn't General Skywalker be here by now?" a trooper asked, breaking the long pause.

He was right. Rex had talked to Skywalker just after escaping to the courtyard, well over an hour ago, and he should have come already even if he'd been on the other side of the monastery. A Nautolan moon-snail on crutches could have covered the distance faster than that.

"I still haven't been able to raise him," Rex finally answered. "Maybe he found a way off-planet and he's too busy to comm us."

That wasn't the least bit reassuring to anybody. For all they knew, Skywalker was dead, the Huttlet was recaptured, and the mission was a failure. Personally, Goose preferred to believe that Skywalker was halfway to Tatooine already, and that he'd sent reinforcements to come back for them. It was a foolish hope, of course, but it seemed she really was becoming delirious after all, because she managed to convince herself it was true.

Time passed by slowly, and Goose noticed the troopers becoming more agitated with every passing minute. Belatedly, she realized they were so on edge because the droids were overdue. The last little shootout had ended more than ten minutes before, and the droids had never given them more than five minutes at most until they attacked again. Something had changed.

"Hey, what's going on with the droids out there?" Goose asked uneasily.

Nobody answered her for a long while, and that only served to heighten her apprehension. Were they discussing it over their helmet comlinks, with the external audio off so she couldn't hear? Or maybe it was just so bad no one wanted to tell her.

"The droids used to attack in small waves, and that we could handle," Rex said at last. "Could be they've wised up, or maybe Ventress is in command again. Either way, the droids have started massing inside the monastery, outside of our range. Must be close to sixty or seventy in there, by now, and it looks like they're preparing for a frontal assault."

His words had the instant effect of chilling her to the bone. Six troopers against sixty droids. _Frontal assault_. They didn't stand a snowball's chance on Mustafar, not with these odds. No wonder the troopers had gotten so antsy. They'd had to sit there, helpless to do anything, as they watched the droids accumulate just outside of their reach. Once the tinnies were ready, they would be steamrolled just like they had been inside the monastery.

So, they were all going to die. How nice. If morale had been low before, it suddenly took another plunge. The mood became even more depressed, and Goose found her thoughts turning to the flask in her back pocket. She had been saving it for a certain-death moment, hadn't she? After an entire day of thinking she was going to die, it seemed like it was finally going to happen. Besides, if the droids didn't kill her, the hematoma might.

She started reaching for her back pocket, but stopped herself short. It was probably just her being delirious again, but for some reason it didn't feel right. Goose had been tempted to take a drink a couple times before, when she'd been in a tight spot, but she hadn't yet. And since she'd always pulled through in the end, if she gave in now it would be like giving up altogether. Like she was accepting death.

On top of all of that, alcohol was a blood thinner, and I would just mean more bleeding her in head. And a coma, in all likelihood. Goose still had some dim hope for survival, so in the end she stubbornly denied herself the Corellian whiskey, no matter how much of a relief it would have been. Satisfied with her moral decision, she tried to distract herself from the looming threat by searching for the first stars in the slowly darkening sky.

Her mind wandered away once more, and this time her thoughts turned to Nubia, her home planet. Back inside the monastery, when she'd tried to think about home she'd been so panicked that even the name of the street she'd lived on escaped her. But now she remembered it easily. Angmalio Street. How could she have forgotten? Goose felt oddly relaxed this time around. One could even go as far as to say she was at peace. Almost. She hadn't given up on living quite yet.

Goose nearly didn't notice Rex, who hadn't allowed himself more than a moment or two of rest in the past hour, sit down next to her. He was quiet for a moment, as if trying to collect his thoughts.

"Doctor, I…" he trailed off uncharacteristically. "I wanted to thank you. For staying," he said a bit awkwardly, but with genuine sincerity. "You didn't have to. In fact, you probably shouldn't have. But you cared enough to stay, for us, and we all appreciate it. I wanted you to know that."

For a long moment, Goose wasn't sure what to say. She'd never anticipated being thanked, especially not after being such a useless burden most of the time. But she could tell he really meant it, and that he honestly hadn't expected her to stay behind. She hadn't missed the way he'd said _for us_ like he couldn't quite believe she'd cast her lot in with some clones. Goose was touched, and she felt her chest tighten a bit, not quite sure what she could possibly say in response.

"Thank you, Rex," she said earnestly. "It's been my honor."

And that was the truth.

Rex nodded to her, then stood and started issuing final orders to his men. When he was done, a hush fell over them all, and it was suddenly so quiet she could faintly hear the metallic scraping of battle droids as they moved around. They weren't marching yet, but they soon would be. Goose wished someone would talk again, about anything, if only so she wouldn't have to keep hearing the creaking of metal joints.

"You know, I'm starting to wonder why the Seps don't just call in an airstrike," Coric piped up almost lightheartedly, as if reading her mind. "There are only seven of us, and we're all huddled up in one place. Call in a vulture, and boom! We're all dead."

It was hardly a cheerful thought, but for some reason at that instant it was completely hilarious. The seven of them burst into insane laughter, the grim atmosphere melting away for the briefest moment while they vented their hysteria. Then, as abruptly as it began, it was over, and the mood became somber once again. It was odd, how when death was just around the corner they could bounce between hilarity and despair in little more than a minute.

Goose went back to looking at the sky, and saw that many more stars had come out as evening progressed into night. However, it was hard to see very many of them because there were so many thick clouds in the way. She squinted a little, trying to imagine that one of those miniscule points of light could be Nubia's sun, Nubus. Goose tried to recall its comforting glow from the memories of her childhood, but it did little to warm the cold feeling spreading through her limbs.

Then, among the stars and the night sky, she saw a small cluster of tiny streaks of red and green lights.

She thought for a moment that she'd finally begun hallucinating, but after staring at it for another minute in disbelief, she decided it had to be real. It hadn't been possible to see until the sky darkened, but there was a space battle happening in orbit around Teth. Goose felt a flutter of hope in her chest, and it took her a second before she could form the words to tell the troopers what she saw. They were so busy watching the battle droids, they hadn't thought to look to the sky.

"Coric, I think I know why they're not calling in an airstrike," Goose said a little breathlessly, pointing at the battle. "They're all too busy up _there_."

His gaze followed her fingers until he too saw the lights in the sky, and though he still wore his helmet, she could imagine the grin that split his features. Coric whooped loudly, and the other troopers looked up as well before joining in with a ragged cheer. Goose smiled to herself in the semi-darkness, relieved beyond measure but unable to shake the feeling of apprehension. With comms still jammed, there was no way to tell if they were actually _winning_.

Impenetrable clouds slowly rolled in, gradually obscuring the skirmish in the sky from view. As expected, the momentary elation wore off quickly, and the atmosphere of brooding restlessness settled back over the small group of survivors. An unnatural silence ensued, and even the droids seemed to have stopped moving around. Goose got the eerie feeling that this was the calm before the storm, the deep breath taken before plunging off the precipice.

Then the storm broke, and together they all fell into the abyss. She still couldn't see anything, but she could hear it all too clearly as the droids began to advance, marching as always with inhumanly synchronized precision. The blasterfire was erratic at first, when the battle droids were only just drawing into range, but it soon built up to the point where Goose could no longer separate the sound of one blaster from the next.

When the droids came close enough, the troopers began to lob what few grenades they'd managed to salvage from inside the AT-TE at the advancing enemy line. These brief explosions punctuated the indistinguishable cacophony for only a moment, hardly seeming to have affected the tinnies at all. It was impossible for Goose to know how many droids the clones had managed to destroy, but it just wasn't enough. They kept on coming.

And the troopers kept on fighting, doggedly standing their ground. Goose had felt a spike of adrenaline when the first shots rang out, but it had faded quickly and she listened almost impassively to the battle raging loudly behind her. She could smell the acrid smoke now, rising from fried circuits and burning machine oil, and she could see the deadly red enemy blaster bolts that went wide and streaked past the AT-TE.

Night had truly fallen now, though Goose could still see well enough by the garish light cast by the bolts of plasma that screamed through the air. An overwhelming tiredness had settled over her, and despite the near-deafening noise of the battle she could feel herself beginning to drift off once more. This time, she made no effort to fight it. Better to slip into a coma and let death take her in her sleep than to be shot by a battle droid.

Goose looked up at the sky once again, hoping that perhaps the clouds had moved and she could look up at the stars one last time. But the clouds were still there, and there were no stars to be seen. A soft sigh of disappointment slipped out of her, and she let her eyes slowly droop shut. Her senses dimmed, and the sounds of the battle took on a faraway, indistinct quality. After a while, they seemed to go away altogether.

Her eyes snapped open. The sounds _had_ stopped. Not a single blaster bolt broke the unbelievable silence. Incredulous, Goose turned and looked up, thinking maybe the clones had been killed, and the droids had stopped because there had been no one left to fight. But all six troopers were still there, alive but probably all injured, staring grimly over their improvised battlements at the droids that surely remained.

"Surrender, Republic dogs," came the automated monotone of a battle droid.

Rex, his armor no longer recognizable as white for all the dirt and scrapes, stood so his head and shoulders were above the cover of the AT-TE. Goose wondered for a moment if he actually intended on surrendering.

"I wish you'd asked earlier," he replied, voice deceptively calm. "Because then, you wouldn't have been outnumbered."

He dropped back under cover as a shot ripped through where his head had just been, and the battle began again in earnest. Goose had no idea what he'd meant by that last bit. Was it some last act of bravado, or simply an attempt to throw off the droids? Or…maybe, just maybe, he was actually telling the truth.

She heard it just moments later – that familiar, unmistakable, utterly _lovely_ drone of LAAT/i engines. The heavenly sound almost brought a laugh to her lips and a tear to her eye, except at this point she felt so weak Goose could manage no more than a vague smile. Then the gunships broke through the clouds, racing through the skies as green plasma spat from their ball turrets, and the grounded Separatist landing ship rumbled as it blew up before her eyes.

Although she struggled to keep her eyes open, Goose realized she would no longer be able to as whatever adrenaline was left in her ebbed away. Her body went limp and her eyes slid shut, and yet she clawed at consciousness, fighting to stay awake. The small part of her that could still think was angry – furious – that she could no longer fight off this exhaustion now that she was close, so _close_ , to being rescued.

The ground shuddered beneath her as missiles pounded into the courtyard, no doubt targeting the droids, and Goose managed to flutter her eyes open one last time. She saw troopers in clean white and orange striped armor leap out of the gunships' troop bays, fast roping down into the fray. Then her vision blurred, the figures turning into streaks as the edges of her sight faded into black, and the darkness engulfed her.

* * *

A/N: I guess I should start off by saying I am SO sorry for not updating in... what has it been, six months? Lately I've been completely slammed with school and life, and a bit of writer's block, but I promise I haven't given up on the story. So... please forgive me, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter


	28. A Rude Awakening

#28 A Rude Awakening

* * *

Goose was caught in that amorphous limbo state between sleeping and waking. Almost dreaming, and yet her mind clung to its last tiny spark of cognizance, unwilling to release itself fully into oblivion. She felt weird. Floaty. Disjointed. An almost unpleasant sensation of being set adrift, sinking in a vast, incomprehensively deep ocean. Many times she felt herself carried close to the surface of consciousness, and each time she was dragged back under by some treacherous, shadowy undercurrent.

Time lost its meaning. Each moment was a year, every hour just a blink of the eye. Seconds turned into days, weeks into milliseconds.

There was pain, too, or perhaps it was only an echo of pain. She couldn't be sure. Thoughts only came in brief spurts, lasting no more than a moment before they were gone, like wisps of smoke curling into the atmosphere. Awareness faded in and out, leaving here tumbling blindly through the tepid sea of darkness, the heavy tides carrying her where they wished. Hazy memories played out behind her closed eyes, like shadowy specters cast by the waning light of a dying sun.

Explosions. The ground shaking beneath her feet, leaping flames and billowing black smoke. Ranks upon ranks of battle droids, always moving, always coming…never _stopping_. Clone troopers. Torrent Company. Fighting. Dying. Ripped to pieces and left where they lay. The AT-TE pilot, bleeding out his wasted life onto the ancient monastery floor. Ventress…snarling, sneering, holding her by the throat…deadly red blade only inches away. Sitting in the stone courtyard, holed up behind the burned out walker…watching the sunset…waiting to die.

The pain became more distinct now, gathering to one point in the back of her head. She jerked in pain, writhing feebly on the ancient flagstones paving the monastery courtyard beneath her. Except it was soft now, which was wrong. And there was silence. _That_ was wrong. Where were the explosions? The crossfire? The reinforcement troopers had landed blasters blazing. Shouldn't it be noisy?

 _Where am I?_

Darkness threatened to pull Goose down beneath the waves once more, but she struggled against it until, at long last, she finally broke the surface. Her hands tightened convulsively, feeling thin, crisp fabric run between her fingers. _Sheets_. She grasped them tightly, as if they were her anchor to consciousness. Then she tried to open her eyes, even though they were so dreadfully heavy, feeling as if they had been crusted shut by the sleep sand that had gathered at the edges of her eyelids.

When at last she pried them open, she was confronted by such a blinding, overwhelmingly white light her first bemused thought was that she'd woken up in some sort of afterlife. Her vision blurred as her eyes watered at the pain of the bright light, and before she could blink them clear a tall shadowy blur moved in the corner of her vision. Goose did not wait for her eyes to adjust to the light, panic flaring to the forefront and leaving no room for rational thought.

Adrenaline surged through her, and Goose shot up so quickly her head exploded in agony, only worsening her disoriented state by sending blood rushing back into her head. She tried desperately to stand, to run, to crawl, anything if it meant getting away. But it was no use, as cold, metallic fingers closed around her shoulders, forcing her back flat on the bed. The figure – a droid – uttered something in its passionless, monotonic voice, but Goose's brain was such a disjointed whirlwind of fear she could not decipher its meaning.

In her mind's eye, a battle droid loomed over her, trying to choke the life out of her

Perhaps she screamed, but more likely it was just in her mind. She couldn't tell. Her head began to throb painfully, while her breath came in short gasps and her heart thundered in her chest as she started to lose a hold on consciousness. Goose continued to struggle blindly, thrashing weakly to no avail against this droid that held her captive, her fear fueling her despite her feeble state. One thing did manage to sink in to her terror-soaked brain, however. Why wasn't the droid hurting her?

Its grasp was firm, but not painful. As she lost the strength to keep fighting, her ears seemed to tell her that, perhaps, this wasn't a battle droid after all. Goose lay still, taking shuddering breaths of air while her heart hammered and her senses cleared. Her eyes slowly adjusted and the bright light was revealed to be coming from a long fluorescent tube set into the stark white ceiling above her. The dark figure of a battle droid instead became a harmless med droid.

Nonsense resolved itself into sense. Goose was in a medbay.

But not _her_ medbay, she quickly realized. It was much too large, and the ceilings too high to have been on a ship. Although she felt an immediate, overwhelming relief, a multitude of questions flooded her mind at once, each more urgent than the last. Where was she? How did she get here…wherever here was? How long had she been out? Where were the others? Surely she could not have been the only one injured…or the only survivor. Most importantly, what the flaming frak had happened?

Her gaze was unfocused as she stared uncomprehendingly upward. Goose tried to remember exactly what had happened, how she had wound up here in this biobed, but couldn't. What memories she could dredge up were hazy and tinged with fear. Fragmented images of Teth, troopers, and explosions, just as she had seen in her fevered dreams, but nothing that she could string together into a coherent series of events.

She gradually realized the droid was still talking to her, explaining that she'd just woken from an induced coma, that disorientation was a normal side effect, and that she'd likely experience confusion for a little while longer. Goose's face pressed itself into a slight frown as she tried to organize her thoughts, to try to form words to ask the questions she burned to ask.

Goose started to talk, but had to stop and swallow the dry, sour stickiness in her mouth before any words came out.

"Where am I?" she rasped, voice a bit hoarse from disuse. Had she really been out so long?

"You are recovering in the Republic Central MedCenter, in the Senate District of Galactic City, Coruscant," the 2-1B answered a little primly.

The answer reassured her a bit. Coruscant was the safest place to be with a war on, as far as she knew. However, a closer look around the room told her that, indeed, this was certainly no military hospital. It was nicely furnished, complete with a small couch for visitors, a bedside table with a vase of (artificial) flowers, an en suite 'fresher, and a holo-screen across from the bed to watch the Holonet on. The question was, what was Goose doing in a civilian MedCenter?

"Why am I here?" Goose asked next.

The droid, of course, took the question literally. "You suffered massive trauma to the occipital region of the cranium, inflammation of subdural tissue, and fractured ribs, not to mention a considerable number of contusions, as well as mild malnutrition and dehydr–"

"No, I mean here, and not in a GAR medbay," she cut in with an edge of exasperation. Droids do have their uses, but Goose had never found conversation to be one of them.

If it were possible, the droid even seemed a little miffed it had been interrupted.

"Well," it continued somewhat curtly. "Your file says you were moved to this facility because the GAR base lacked the proper medical equipment for treating injuries such as yours. Nevertheless, it is quite an unusual situation, since this hospital has no agreement with the military to accept long-term patients."

"Long term?" Goose blurted, "How long have I been here, exactly?"

"After the initial operation performed by one of this facility's neurosurgeons, you have spent about two weeks healing in bacta, then another two days recuperating in this room."

"Sixteen days!" she nearly gasped. Goose had seen patients who'd been run over by hover trucks recover faster than that. "Why? Was there serious damage?"

"No, but it seems you awoke several times while in bacta treatment, and reacted rather violently. The physician assigned to your case decided it would be best if you were placed in a medically induced coma, both for your own safety and to help reduce your intracranial bleeding." Rather sardonic for a 2-1B, the med droid then added, "In hindsight, perhaps I should have expected your outburst when you regained consciousness."

She couldn't quite repress a feeling of dread, although physically she felt as well as could be expected, given the circumstances. Although Goose had no memory or waking up during bacta, that in and of itself was not the cause of her concern. The droid hadn't said it outright, but Goose knew that she wouldn't have been put into a coma had the swelling in her head not been severe. That either meant her hematoma had been worse than expected, or something had gone awry with the surgery.

"There's something you're not telling me, isn't there?" Goose sighed, for a moment thinking she might be happier in life is she just stopped asking questions.

"Ah…well, there were some…complications," the med droid started reluctantly, but got the rest out more quickly once she shot it a warning look. "The surgeon who inserted the shunt to drain the intracranial fluid buildup may have…accidently performed the procedure in a manner that…did not conform to this facility's standards of surgical exactness."

In other words, these blasted city doctors had botched her operation.

" _And_?" she prompted tersely, half annoyed the droid was taking so long to spit it out and half terrified of what the answer would be. A dozen scenarios, each worse than the last, ran through her mind while she mentally checked that she still possessed all her faculties.

"Another hole had to be drilled for a secondary shunt, this time through the fractured region of the cranium in order to properly place the shunt, though as a result the fracture widened and the structural integrity of the bone was weakened. A durasteel plate was fused to the bone to provide stability and protect the damaged area once the shunt was removed," it continued cautiously. "It is no more than a few millimeters thick, however, and there is little chance you will ever notice it."

Goose sighed. The med droid had been sugarcoating it, which was probably just something programmed into its behavioral subroutine to comfort patients, but futile in the end since she understood perfectly what it was trying to avoid saying. The drilling into her skull had so weakened the bone that she would have a soft spot there almost like a newborn, except it would likely be permanent. It wasn't the durasteel plate itself that concerned her – it was the underlying damage. Head wounds could be tricky, and long term affects were impossible to foresee.

Reaching to touch the back of her head, Goose gingerly felt the bacta patch that covered the spot that still throbbed dully with each beat of her heart. She knew she was still tanked up on painkillers by the heaviness in her limbs, and it would be some time before she'd start to feel the metal plate. It also slowly dawned on her that the surgeon – whoever this laserbrained nerf herder was – had almost certainly had to shave her scalp in the back to put the plate in. On top of everything else, she'd be forced to sport a comb-over until it grew back in.

"That's all just fan- _fripping_ -tastic," Goose groused, suddenly feeling a headache coming on.

"Of course, this is not a serious complication, and should not result in any issues later in life," the 2-1B added hastily.

It belatedly occurred to her that the MedCenter was probably afraid she'd try to sue over the surgeon's incompetence. In fact, Goose would have bet her last credit that was why she was talking to a droid at the moment, and not an organic nurse.

"Don't worry your logic circuits, I'm not interested in filing a malpractice lawsuit," she grumbled, but didn't mention that she wouldn't mind getting her hands around the neck of the rankweed sucker who had bungled her surgery.

For once, the med droid actually did not seem miffed with her response. "Ah, that is good. It is rare to find such a pragmatic organic these days. Most succumb so easily to hysterics."

Goose shot the droid a very pointed look, but it seemed not to have noticed. The 2-1B then started asking her a battery of questions, like if she was feeling dizzy or nauseous, whether she was having trouble forming new memories, and other things to assess her mental state. Then the med droid did a series of bio-scans and other diagnostic tests, like drawing a blood sample. All just standard medical procedure. The droid appeared satisfied, and Goose peeked over its durasteel shoulder to check that everything was within normal parameters.

"Have you any more concerns?" the med droid inquired, clearly ready to leave now that its work was done.

"Actually, do you have any idea where my battalion is? The 501st?" Goose asked a little slowly. It felt odd calling it _her_ battalion, although she supposed by now that is what it was. "And…do you know anything about the outcome on Teth?"

If before there was any doubt that the med droid was getting annoyed with her constant questioning, there wasn't any anymore.

"I have notified you already that this facility has no partnership with the GAR, and as such I have no access to that kind of information." The 2-1B replied haughtily. If its vocabulator was capable of producing such a sound, it might have huffed as well. "I can only advise that you watch the holonet. Much of it is reporting on the war these days. Now, if you will excuse me, you are not my only patient and I must see to their care as well."

The dismissal had been plain. The med droid started to head for the door.

"Wait!" she called a little impulsively. "Is there any chance I can talk to an organic doctor?"

It wasn't that Goose didn't trust the droid's medical opinion – in fact she herself would not have done anything differently – she just really wanted to talk to another person.

"We are understaffed at this time, since many of the organic personnel have been conscripted for service in the GAR Medical Corps. However, you may set up an appointment if you wish, but it is not necessary. Your neural scans check out, so your course of treatment is over, and you will be discharged after another night of observation to ensure you are fully recovered," it answered condescendingly. "Now, if that is all?"

Goose nodded wordlessly, and the med droid made a quick exit. Once the door hissed shut behind it, she let out a long, slow sigh. Whether it was in relief or frustration even she couldn't quite tell. She sat up in bed, stretching out her limbs until her joints popped, and let out a groan as her muscles protested at being forced to move after so long in bacta. Still, it felt good just to get her blood circulating again.

Reaching over to the bedside table, she rummaged around in its drawers until she found the remote control unit to the holo-screen, and switched it on. The holo-emitter flickered to life, projecting the image of a portly humanoid woman, dressed in a garish shade of purple, grinning widely as she stood over a pot bubbling on a stove top.

" _Now, remember that precision is very important in making Bilerat stew, and we do want to have a fine consistency, don't we? So follow this tempo: Stir, whip! Stir, whip! Whip, whip, stir! Stir, whip_ –"

With a snort of annoyance, she flipped through the channels looking for Holonet News and Entertainment. Four holonovelas, seven sports networks, a comedy channel, and another cooking show later, she finally came across the familiar HNE logo as it rushed across the screen, accompanied by its trademarked theme music. Much to her irritation, the program then went on a commercial break, and Goose was forced to sit through several minutes of advertisements selling everything from airspeeder insurance ( _Allworld: Are you in good grasping appendages?_ ) to cosmetics ( _works on all skin tones in the visible and ultraviolet spectrums!_ )

After so many years without access to the holonet, the sudden barrage of flashing lights, toothy smiles, and inane jingles was at once overwhelming and incredibly obnoxious. Goose wondered how she had ever put up with all of this when she was younger. She fidgeted with impatience, absentmindedly twisting the sheets between her fingers

Finally, the show came back from the break, and a handsome male Mirialan news anchor appeared, announcing that the War Report was coming up soon, but that first there would be the hourly Traffic Update and Celebrity Spotlight segments. Goose gave a defeated moan and rubbed her forehead in frustration as the traffic droid came on and began explaining that rush hour traffic would be especially bad in sector H-46 that day, but the skylanes through the Factory District were empty.

Then the show transitioned to an interview with some actress, a Twi'lek female with obvious cosmetic enhancements wearing a fashionably cut, jewel-encrusted gown, who congratulated herself endlessly for donating to a charity dedicated to saving some species of endangered avian on Hosnian Prime. Knowing it would be a while, Goose turned down the volume and leaned back onto her pillows, rubbing her eyes to try to dispel her growing headache.

Her mind wasn't spinning quite so badly now as it was when she'd first woken up, and memories of Teth were coming back to her more clearly now. Not that she really wanted to remember it. Goose just hoped that soon she'd find out what had happened after she blacked out, and that it would quiet the growing fear that she was the sole survivor of what had once been Torrent Company.

Eventually, the interview with the preening celebrity ended and the main news anchor reappeared on the holo-screen. Goose turned the volume back up so she could hear what was coming.

"And now, for our daily War Report," said the Mirialan, as cheerfully as if he had just announced the ending of the war itself. "Coming to us from the planet Christophsis in the Outer Rim is reporter Kelya Reid."

The image of the news anchor faded away, to be replaced by that of a perky, pink-skinned Zeltron female smiling coquettishly at the holo-cam while standing in a rubble-strewn street.

"Good evening, Coruscant!" she greeted with bubbly enthusiasm. "As you can see, I am here on location in Chaleydonia, Christophsis. For those viewers who have been following this story, I am pleased to report that Republic forces have officially retaken the planet, and need only to defeat the few remaining pockets of Separatist resistance! In little more than two weeks, the Grand Army has followed up its easy reconquest of the capital city with a series of rapid victories, starting with the crystal forests of the southwestern hemisphere…"

She continued prattling along blithely about just how _smashingly_ the war was going, but by that point Goose had stopped listening. That noodlefishing reporter had called the battle for Crystal City _easy_. Easy! By sheer luck alone they had barely managed to keep from being utterly annihilated, and even then it was at the cost of countless lives. Come to think of it, never once had the pretty young Zeltron mentioned a word about casualty counts.

Then the image cut away to a pre-recorded holovid while the reporter's voice continues to speak over it. There were a few shots of troopers marching off their transports or standing in formation, as well as a few action shots of clones shooting at retreating battle droids. But never did it show any explosions, or the droids shooting back, or any wounded or dead troopers. In short, it had nothing that would happen in a _real_ war. Just a triumphant, faceless army.

Goose realized, with growing frustration, that everything in the recording was probably staged. In all likelihood, even the scenes showing troopers "fighting" were shot long after the battle had already ended, and the holo-cam crews had decided it was safe enough to get some footage of patrols mopping up the stragglers. Then the segment on Christophsis ended, and the show returned to the Mirialan, who gave an upbeat summary of the other campaigns in the Outer Rim.

From the living rooms on Coruscant, it must have seemed like a very clean war.

Another obnoxiously bright-colored advertisement started playing, and Goose switched off the holo-emitter in disgust. Her chest tightened with impotent rage at what she had just seen. The whole war was treated like some little sideshow. It had been so clean, so sanitized – and not a single word about all the men who had given their lives – nor any mention of Teth or the deal with the Hutts. Did that mean that their mission had been a failure in the end? Should there not be at least some sort of a memorial for the loss of an entire company?

What was the meaning of this war, anyway, if the citizens the GAR was protecting cared more about vainglorious celebrities than the lives of the soldiers kept them safe from Separatist attack?

She clenched her jaw in anger, roughly kicking off her sheets and struggling to her feet. Her legs felt weak from disuse, but they supported her weight nonetheless. Goose paced the small room restlessly, cursing that there was nothing she could do, and no one to talk to. But what would she do, what would she say, if she could? She stopped pacing and sighed with a sudden, bone-wearying exhaustion. She had no idea.

It seemed she had no idea about anything anymore. Sighing again, Goose stepped over to the small window on the far wall, tugging open the curtain. It was stiff and very dusty, as if it hadn't been opened in years. Before her was, even in her foul mood, a breathtaking view. Glittering spires crowded the skyline, so tall they seemed to touch the sky and at the same time reach all the way into the planet's core. Speeders, hovercabs, and crafts of every description zipped by at startling speeds in the bustling skylanes.

For a while, she stared transfixed at the myriad of flashing lights and color emanating from the teeming metropolis that was spread out before her. At the fantastic spectacle that was Coruscant. She had never seen it in person before, and as a girl she had once dreamed of visiting the Republic's glamorous capital. It was all so much more impressive, so much more jaw-droppingly _big_ , than she had ever thought it could be.

But as Goose stood there, staring out at a city-world of trillions, she realized that she had never felt so alone.

* * *

A/N: Hello again, dear readers! It has been, well, about four month since I last updated. Now that it's summer, however, I will hopefully (although I don't want to make promises I can't keep) be able to write more often. In the meantime, I thank you for your patience and hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	29. Everything's Bigger on Coruscant

#29 Everything's Bigger on Coruscant

* * *

Goose slept fitfully that night, but if there had been any dreams she'd already forgotten them by the time she woke up. The med droid had returned around mid-morning to pronounce her in good health and free to go, then left promptly. It seemed that her clothes and all other personal effects, besides the GAR-issue identi-tags on a chain around her neck, had been removed prior to her transfer to Republic Central Medcenter, so the hospital had issued her a set of shapeless, baggy, one-size-fits-all humanoid coveralls.

She hadn't received any military orders telling her where to report to once she had been discharged from the hospital, nor did she have a comlink with which to contact the army and ask for instructions. Even if she had one, she didn't know what com-code to enter. Unsure of what she should do, Goose had left her room in the hopes of finding a com-terminal with a directory or another being who could help her. The placard by her door had read "GOSLING, VALERIE: LEVEL 96, WARD 5, BAY A/4."

At the moment, she was wandering the halls of the neurology unit, still on level 96, but somewhere in the midst of ward 11. Needless to say, Goose was utterly lost and growing more frustrated by the minute. Of course, she had been to numerous medcenters before, but this was bordering on ridiculous. The hallways, all a uniformly pristine white and brightly lit, appeared to go on into eternity with hardly any markings to indicate where in the sprawling complex she was. There were no exterior windows, at least where she was, and it gave her the incredibly uncomfortable feeling of being trapped in a blindingly white, antiseptic, state-of-the-art vrelt maze.

Nearly a half an hour ago, she'd come across a building schematic displayed on a wall and had headed in a direction that she thought would take her to this floor's lobby, where she would be able to get some information. However, she must have taken a wrong turn (or several) and was beginning to believe she was walking in circles. Hadn't anyone here ever heard of signage? On top of that, she hadn't seen a single living being since stepping out of her room and it was starting to seem like the massive facility was completely empty.

Several more minutes of aimless wandering passed before, at long last, Goose finally stumbled into the cavernous lobby. It was more of an atrium, really, with a burbling fountain in the middle of it and a variety of exotic plant species arranged in a way that was aesthetically pleasing to most sentients. Seats holding beings waiting for their appointments or to visit family members were interspersed throughout the decorative foliage to afford some feeling of privacy.

The overall effect was one of calming tranquility, so different from the stark utilitarian feel of the rest of the hospital that Goose was too busy being surprised to feel relieved to have finally escaped the labyrinth. Shaking herself out of her momentary stupor, she headed toward the information kiosk, located on the other side of the lobby. As she walked across the room, however, Goose began to notice the other beings in the lobby giving curious or sidelong glances in her direction.

It occurred to her that most of them appeared to be well-to-do Coruscantis, if their fashionable and well-made clothing was anything to go by. Goose was suddenly painfully aware the ill-fitted, rather unflattering coveralls she'd been given to wear. She lengthened her stride, but squared her shoulders and tried not to look like she was in a hurry. Strangely, she was beginning to feel like more of an outsider here than she ever had among the 501st.

Not soon enough, she arrived at the information kiosk. It was manned by a single orientation droid, a rather unsophisticated stationary unit whose sole purpose to its existence was to give directions.

"Good day, madam," it greeted in a flat monotone. "How can this unit be of assistance?"

"I need to get back to my battalion, the 501st," Goose said hopefully. "Can you find out if it's still on Coruscant?"

The droid paused while it processed the request, then replied, "Apologies. This unit is unable to access military servers to acquire this data."

Goose groaned in frustration. Her best option now would be to go to the nearest GAR base and ask there. The only problem was that she didn't have a single credit-chip in her pockets, and that meant she couldn't get an air taxi. Walking didn't sound feasible either; the closest base could be in a completely different sector of the city, dozens of miles away. This day just kept getting better and better.

Seeming to register her distress, the droid added, "Of course, Republic Central Medcenter offers a courtesy shuttle service to any location within this district of the city. Grand Army Headquarters is within that range."

She blinked in surprise. It hadn't even occurred to her that RCM would have its own shuttles.

"Oh! Yes – yes, that would be great," she answered hurriedly, as if the droid might change its mind if she hesitated. After all, this was the first break she'd had in ages.

"Very well," the droid said as it withdrew a datapad from under the counter and began to program it. "This device contains the coordinates of your destination and will connect to the facility's sensor system to guide you to the shuttle platform."

The orientation droid handed the datapad over to her. Its display contained the entire layout of the floor she was on, with a blinking dot where she was standing and a glowing line indicating where she had to go to reach the shuttles. Goose sighed. If only she had been given one of these before she'd left her room…

After thanking the droid politely, Goose started to follow the path indicated on the datapad. It led her through the atrium to a bank of turbolifts on the opposite wall. Again, she felt uneasy as she walked past the other people in the lobby – and that feeling only intensified when a little girl no more than four standard years old, wearing a frilly pink dress and with ribbons in her hair, ran giggling past Goose, chasing a toy as it rolled away.

Goose was so startled she almost stopped in her tracks. It took her a long moment to realize that that girl was the first _child_ – excluding the Huttlet and Skywalker's padawan – she had seen in longer than she cared to remember. Slowly, it dawned on her that this was, for lack of a better term, the most utterly _civilian_ place she'd seen in months. After so much time spent in a military environment, this peaceful and mundane setting felt altogether alien.

If anything, this realization only unsettled her even further. What did it mean? Hadn't she dreamed of being a civilian again since the first moment she was drafted? When had that changed? _Had_ it changed? Goose pushed the button on the wall to call a turbolift, and waited impatiently until it arrived. She gave a sigh of relief once she was aboard and the doors had hissed shut, blocking out her view of the lobby. Perhaps she was just getting too worked up over this. She had just woken up from a coma, after all.

The turbolift hummed gently as it descended forty-two floors, and Goose gradually calmed down. She was in the army now, for better or for worse, and she could worry about being a civilian later. On level 54, the datapad instructed her to disembark, then guided her across a skybridge that connected to an adjacent building. The bridge was enclosed, but its walls were made entirely of transparisteel, giving a far more magnificent view of the city than she had been able to see from her room's small window the night before.

In the daylight, Goose could tell that the medcenter was massive. So large, in fact, that it had its own internal traffic system and looked more like a small city than a hospital. Of course it made sense for such a densely populated world to have health care on an industrial scale, but there was still something off putting about a facility so vast that it required its own global positioning system for anybody to successfully navigate its endless maze of hallways.

Next, the 'pad directed her to another turbolift that took her down another couple dozen levels, then led her out to an uncovered landing platform on the side of the building, hundreds of feet in the air. The height was dizzying, so Goose tried her best not to look down when she stepped into one of the several courtesy shuttles waiting on the platform. The shuttle was automated, so she inserted the datapad into its interface port and waited for it to scan the coordinates of her destination.

Goose took a seat in one of the plasticast chairs bolted down to the floor as the shuttle lifted off. A small vidscreen at the front of the shuttle flickered to life, playing a pre-recorded message asking her to respect the property of Republic Central Medcenter, and enjoy her flight. When the recording finished, the vidscreen displayed the shuttle's route through the city, along with her estimated time of arrival at GAR headquarters.

It would be about forty-five minutes, traffic willing. Goose sighed, slouching a little in her seat in an effort to find a comfortable position on the unpadded chair. Viewports along the walls offered panoramic vistas as the small craft sped through the heart of the Senate District, the very capital of the Republic, but she could muster neither the energy nor interest to enjoy the view. The countless skyscrapers all looked so similar she'd be hard pressed to tell one section of the skyline from another, anyway.

As she sat alone in the silence of the empty shuttle, Goose began to feel…abandoned. In a way, she was disappointed that she'd woken in an unfamiliar place without a single friendly face in sight. Of course, she did not expect herself to be the top of anyone's priorities; after all, nearly an entire company had died on Teth, and there was still a war to win. And yet, she could not dismiss the fact that there had not even been any sort of message – a note, even – to show that anyone knew or cared whether she was alive or dead.

She heaved a sigh of resignation. What did it matter, anyway? She could not be sure if Coric or Rex had survived the assault on Teth, since the final minutes before she blacked out were a total blur. There was no way she could claim to have been close to either of them. though; she only occasionally bantered with Coric, and oftentimes it seemed the Captain only tolerated her because she was good with a vibroscalpel. If they had lived, she couldn't fault them for overlooking her. They'd lost more that day than she could ever imagine.

Goose was fairly certain that Jules was alright, being safe aboard the _Resolute_ during the disasterous attack. He was the only one she could even begin to call a friend – a fact she was now starting to regret. Why had she never bothered to get to know the other troopers? They had been under near-constant siege, of course, and she had been so drop-dead exhausted she hadn't had the time to get to know the others. Only him.

Another sigh escaped her. There was no use getting too agitated over it. She'd only known them for less than two months, after all. Goose tried to relax. That morning had been unnecessarily stressful. Although, it wouldn't be morning for much longer – it was nearly noon already. She yawned and felt her eyelids droop. A sudden wave of fatigue had washed over her, and the comforting drone of the shuttle's engines soon lulled her to sleep.

* * *

All too soon, Goose was startled back to wakefulness when another recording played on the vidscreen, telling her she had reached her destination and wishing her a pleasant afternoon. She stood up and rubbed her eyes groggily, somehow feeling even more tired regardless of her impromptu nap. The shuttle doors slid open, and Goose stepped out onto a landing platform in front of what had to be GAR Headquarters.

The building was massive, like all the others she'd seen on this city-world, except this one shared none of the elegant architecture and glittering transparisteel she had come to associate with Coruscant. It was squat, boxy, and an uninspiring drab gray color, its only embellishment being the symbol of the Grand Army emblazoned across the front. A twenty-foot wall surrounded the perimeter, a ray-shielded gate the only entrance in sight. Despite it being considerably shorter than the other towering spires around it, the looming structure still had a rather imposing presence.

Warily, Goose approached the security post in front of the gate, acutely aware that she was still wearing the pajama-like medcenter coveralls. Security would have to be tight, this being the headquarters of the entire Grand Army, and she didn't look forward to convincing the sentries that she was, however unwillingly, a captain in that army. At the very least, she would avoid mentioning that she had recently woken from a coma before wandering out of the neurology unit.

In an effort to appear less like an escapee from a mental hospital, Goose squared her shoulders and walked up to the guardhouse in a way that she hoped would look confident. As far as she could tell through the slightly tinted transparisteel window, a single trooper wearing red-striped armor manned the post.

"Good afternoon," she greeted as casually as she could. "Captain V. E. Gosling of the 501st battalion. I'm trying to reunite with my company."

He made no response, but seemed to tilt his head as if to get a better look at her. There was no way Goose could see the trooper's expression through his helmet, but she would bet that he was eyeing her suspiciously. Belatedly, she realized she'd forgotten to offer any sort of identification, and quickly pulled the chain with her identi-tags off her neck and handed them to the guard through an opening in the window.

"Er, there, that should clear things up," she added with an awkward laugh, finding his silence unnerving.

The trooper accepted the identi-tags and scanned it in his computer terminal's data slot. Goose's identification information, including her rank and current assignment, popped up on a holographic display. For a fleeting moment, she almost didn't recognize the holo-image of herself. It had been taken just after she'd been drafted, and she looked so…young. Naive. Almost like another person entirely. Had she really changed that much?

"Everything checks out," the trooper said with a hint of surprise, handing back her identi-tags and derailing Goose's train of thought. "Forgive me for my initial hesitation, ma'am, I wasn't actually expecting…"

He didn't finish the sentence, perhaps out of concern that she'd be insulted, and it occurred to her that she probably outranked him.

"Well, don't worry about it. If I were you, I wouldn't have believed me either," Goose replied with a rueful shrug. "Anyway, would you happen to have any idea if the 501st is still on Coruscant? I've been recovering in a civilian medcenter and I haven't heard from them in weeks."

"Of course, ma'am." The trooper keyed something in on his computer, and shook his head when he saw the result. "I'm sorry, ma'am. The 501st shipped out over a week ago, and there is no information as to when they will return."

Goose groaned in growing frustration. At this point, it was starting to feel like the universe was mocking her.

"Great. That's just _kriffing_ great," she grumbled under her breath.

"Ma'am, may I suggest you check the recovery wards in the barracks?" he added cautiously. "The 501st did leave some men behind to recuperate from their injuries. From what I heard, their last mission was pretty tough."

"Their last mission? What else did you hear?" Goose questioned intently. Maybe he would know something about the outcome of Teth.

"Apologies, ma'am. I never asked for the details," the trooper answered.

She tried to hide her disappointment. "That's alright. Thank you, trooper."

"Ma'am," the trooper acknowledged with a salute.

He lowered the security barrier, allowing her to enter the compound. On the other side of the wall, Goose could see that this place was nearly as gargantuan as the medcenter she'd just come from. Aside from the massive building directly in front of her, there was also a collection of smaller warehouses around what appeared to be a repair yard, filled with battle-damaged walkers, gunships, and artillery pieces in various stages of disassembly.

Beyond that was a sprawling empty space that looked large enough to accommodate an _Acclamator_ -class assault cruiser with room to spare, near to which was a refueling station. Past the landing field was another large building, although it appeared to be only a few stories tall and stretched almost the entire width of the base. If she had to guess, Goose would pick that as the barracks. The building right in front of her looked like it was for administration; where the rear echelons discussed strategy and supply lines from the safety of their conference rooms.

Trusting her gut, Goose headed for the building at the far end of the base. Unsurprisingly, it took her a while to get there, the two buildings being over a kilometer apart. Not being in particularly good shape, she was breathing a little heavily when she finally reached the barracks. Up close, it seemed like it went on forever; they could probably fit an entire sector army in there and have bunks left over.

"Why is everything on this planet bigger? What, were the architects overcompensating for something?" Goose muttered as she headed toward a door, "Could've at _least_ built things closer together."

For such a large building, the doors felt incongruously small. There were several of them, spaced out evenly every few hundred meters, each wide enough to fit five people across. Goose walked in when they opened automatically, and was greeted by a large, empty hallway. It was the first time she'd ever stepped foot inside, of course, but there was something…comfortingly familiar about its military construction.

Thankfully, there were signs clearly marked MEDBAY in glowing red letters directing her through the endless halls and passageways, otherwise she'd have gotten hopelessly lost within seconds. The medbay was located in the center of the complex, with the rest of the building being comprised of identical "blocks" each designed to house an entire legion of men. It seemed that every block had its own mess hall, training facilities, and supply office as would any self-contained barracks, except they were all connected into one almost never-ending whole.

At first she'd had the hallways to herself, although eventually Goose had started to pass troopers wearing green-striped armor. It wasn't too obvious, given that they wore helmets, but she could tell they were staring by the subtle way they slowed down as they walked past her. None of them tried to stop her to ask what she was doing there, probably assuming she was allowed to be there since she'd gotten past security. Nevertheless, she walked briskly to avoid such an encounter.

If at all possible, Goose was beginning to feel even more uncomfortable in her shapeless coveralls than she had earlier. For the first time ever, she actually _wanted_ to get back into her uniform, if only so she wouldn't look quite so out of place anymore. It was strange, how the object of her past resentment now seemed…preferable. Just a few weeks prior she'd probably wouldn't have been able to imagine a situation in which she would _miss_ those green fatigues.

What felt like (but really wasn't) several kilometers later, Goose finally arrived at the barracks medbay. It was significantly larger than the one aboard the _Resolute_ , but had only a few operating rooms. Since it was meant more as a facility for troopers to recover from their injuries rather than undergo surgery, most of the space was dedicated to rows of bacta tanks and wards filled with biobeds. It had been more than two weeks, so she assumed none of the troopers from the 501st would still be in bacta, and headed to the nearest recovery ward.

At the entrance to each recovery ward was a roster of the designations of the patients within, but no names. Goose groaned for the umpteenth time that day as she stared at the column of CT-numbers. She'd never bothered to learn the serial number of any clone she met, so the list in front of her was essentially gibberish. This was getting her nowhere. She looked around for someone to assist her, but the only droid around was a maintenance unit, not programmed to communicate in Basic, cleaning the floors. There didn't seem to be any organic staff either.

Goose dithered for a while, knowing full well that she would become the instant center of attention if she walked into a ward, and felt like she'd already had her fill of being stared at for the day. Then she heard something, so faint she almost missed it – the sound of things falling off a shelf, and the muttered curse that followed. Almost without thinking, Goose followed the noise down the hallway and around the corner.

Before her was a clone, wearing maroon off-duty fatigues, struggling to pick up packages of bacta patches with one hand while the other arm rested in a sling. His back was to her, and he could easily have been any other trooper in the Grand Army, but some instinct in her insisted that it could be no one else.

"…Jules?"

* * *

A/N: Well, if it isn't another cliffhanger... You might have to wait a little while, though, because I'm going to Canada tomorrow!


End file.
